


The Darkness Inside

by whichclothes



Series: Toolverse [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-23
Updated: 2010-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:36:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 108,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichclothes/pseuds/whichclothes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Initiative is not yet through with Spike and Xander. Sequel to The Right Tool.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful (NWS) art, and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 1a: Loose Ends**_  
**Chapter Title: 1a **Loose Ends   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful (NWS) art, and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;for vetting my British!

Some chapters, like this one, are longish, so I'll post them in two parts.

 

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)_   
I’m starving_, he thinks sleepily. _Could eat a horse. Could…sink my teeth into that broad, muscular neck and feel the gallons of hot blood pump into me and feel the horse’s heart start to falter and_….

He opens his eyes.

And Xander Harris screams.

“Hush! Hush! It’s all right, pet. Hush.”

As his racing pulse begins to slow and his ragged breaths even out, Xander is fully aware of the irony of his situation. He has that horrible fucking nightmare—again—and what calms him down is being cuddled and soothed by the undead.

But this particular undead is naked and smells like vanilla soap and is rocking Xander in his arms and planting feathery kisses on Xander’s cheeks. Xander looks up at the blue eyes staring down at him from under furrowed brows, at the honey-colored curls that are still shower-damp, and he smiles wanly. “Sorry, Spike. You think I woke anyone up?”

“Nah. For one thing, it’s two in the afternoon.” Xander jerks his head around and stares at the bedside clock. Shit. It’s hard to keep track of the time with no windows, and he’s practically nocturnal nowadays anyway.

“And for another, you weren’t nearly as loud as you were last night. Remember, when I did that thing, and….”

“Oh. Yeah, I remember,” Xander says and now he’s grinning broadly. He pulls Spike down for another kiss, this time on the lips. “But maybe you want to, umm, remind me?”

Spike does. And after, they lie entangled in each others’ arms, dozing lightly as the boat rocks comfortingly beneath them.

 

The trip to Boston had surprised them by going well. Spike and Jen were nervous around each other at first, and Spike had peered at the twins as if they might possibly bite. Which, actually, they might. But they didn’t. There was no biting at all, in fact. For some reason Spike stirred every one of Jen’s motherly instincts, and she was soon plying him with tea and finding him saltines to crumble into his blood. Jake showed Spike how to use his favorite remote controlled car, while Sam giggled over his English “accident” and insisted that he read her her bedtime story.

They spent nearly two weeks there, passing the long days back in their hotel room and then joining Willow and her family at sundown. Spike managed to cajole more embarrassing Xander stories out of Willow, and although Xander pretended to complain, in reality he loved watching his vampire chortle and snicker and sometimes just throw his head back and laugh. Besides, Xander had a good Willow tale or two that Jen was happy to hear.

Finally, though, fall semester was starting and Jen and Willow had to get back to work. Xander and Spike decided to visit New York City for a while. Xander knew that having a vehicle in the city would be more of a liability than a convenience, so they left the van at Willow’s house and took a night train instead.

They knew from the diaries that Spike had been in New York before, but of course he didn’t remember anything about it. And Xander had been there only briefly. It’s not that there were no demons there. Far from it, in fact—the well-informed could tell that demons were as common as taxis. But most of them blended in pretty well with the humans, wearing black and walking fast and swearing a lot, and besides, the government apparently had other people who dealt with East Coast demon issues.

In fact, the city that never sleeps was an excellent place to tour with a vampire, because even at three in the morning they could find interesting things to do. They were able to sublet a tiny apartment in Greenwich Village from Todd’s cousin, who was a journalism major at NYU but was spending the fall in an exchange program in Ireland. She left them a note telling them where some of the local demon hotspots were, and letting them know that the bodega on 8th Street could probably hook them up with some human blood.

The bed took up most of the space in the apartment, which was fine with them, because that’s where they happily spent most of the day. Xander hadn’t felt this horny since he was seventeen, only now he actually had someone to be horny _with_. Someone who was equally as eager and was gorgeous and who could stay hard for hours if he tried.

Once the sun set, they’d usually head first to The Strand, where Xander waited patiently while Spike browsed through all 18 miles of books. Xander got to pick where they ate after, and he chose something different every night. It might be Cuban-Chinese on Monday, Italian on Tuesday, and deli on Wednesday. For two weeks Xander was on a curry kick and each night they tried a different Indian place on 6th Street. Spike didn’t seem to care much; he’d eat anything spicy.

After dinner they’d wander around the city, walking for miles with their arms around each other. Spike gradually became used to the millions of humans, few of whom paid him any mind at all. Often they’d go to a bar or club, and sometimes the patrons were mostly human, sometimes mostly demon. At the human places, Xander quickly headed off anyone who tried to poach his boyfriend, and among demons, Spike would vamp out and snarl at anything that came too close to Xander.

They called Todd pretty frequently. He’d decided against buying a condo for now, but, after his Brachen boy and Fiona had had one too many tiffs, he’d moved into Xander’s bungalow. It made Xander happy to think of Todd padding around the place, probably watching his Star Trek DVDs and playing with the Wii. Besides, Todd worked only a few blocks away, so it was convenient for him as well.

Their time in New York was nice. Sort of like a honeymoon, Xander thought. But eventually they both felt restless. And just as they were discussing where to go next, Xander started having the dream.

Spike still had nightmares almost daily, which was understandable. But neither of them could explain why Xander suddenly began to dream about becoming a vampire.

Okay, that’s not quite true. The dream might have had something to do with the pale, fangy creature he’d fallen in love with. And the tiny pinprick wounds that dotted Xander’s neck. And inner thighs. And wrists. And chest. And….

But Xander _liked_ it when Spike bit him. Liked it very, very much, actually. Spike never took more than a mouthful or two of his blood, and Xander had never for a moment feared for his safety. Well, unless a man can orgasm to death.

Still, every few days it was Spike who had to hold Xander tight and reassure him that it wasn’t real. They’re quite a pair, Xander thought. Would keep a shrink busy for years, if they could find one who catered to demons and children of the Hellmouth.

Xander thought that it might help to tie up a few of the loose ends in his life, so they decided to go to England. Where Giles was, and the rest of the Watchers’ Council. Where Spike was born and died.

Getting there was the problem. Airplanes were out of the question—there was just no way to assure that Spike stayed out of sunlight. Spike offered to let himself be shipped as cargo—they could disguise him as a corpse on its way to burial. But neither of them was actually very keen on that idea, and besides, it probably required mountains of paperwork to send a cadaver overseas.

So it had to be by boat. After some research, they were able to book an inside cabin on the Queen Mary 2. Avoiding the sun onboard would be fairly simple, but the ship would be boarding and disembarking during the day. They used some demon connections and found a doctor who would certify that William Harris suffered from porphyria and had to avoid exposure to sunlight. With the doctor’s note, they could make some special arrangements to have Spike get on and off the ship in the dark. Feeding was also going to be an issue, because smuggling blood onboard would be impossible. But Spike said he could drink a lot right before they left, and then a few small sips of Xander would be enough to get him through the six days of the journey. After all, he’d gone over two years without eating as a guest of the Initiative, hadn’t he?

It wasn’t a solution that completely satisfied Xander, but it was the best they could do. And so one morning in early November they set sail for Southampton.

 

Xander hasn’t told Giles he was coming. Hasn’t told him about Spike, or the Initiative, or…well, hasn’t told him anything. All in good time.

They’ve rented a little one-bedroom flat a couple of blocks from the Earl’s Court tube station. It smells faintly of fish, and they have to walk up four flights of stairs, but it’s affordable and convenient and has only two small windows, both of which face north. There’s a 24-hour Sainsbury’s five minutes away, where Xander wonders, as he did in his previous visit, why the British don’t refrigerate eggs in their supermarkets. One of the internet cafés down the street is run by an Arpoat demon who’s happy to supply them with bags of blood, for only a small fee. Arpoats are generally willing to do just about anything for a small fee.

Spike doesn’t remember London any better than he remembered New York, and it’s been decades since he was here last anyway. But Xander has spent six months here, and so he finds himself in the odd position of playing tour guide to the native. They take a few weeks to wander around the city at night, poking through little nooks and crannies; riding the DLR through the odd, dystopian landscape of the Docklands; walking back and forth over Tower and Millennium bridges; wondering at the way the ancient walls of the Tower of London contrast with modern structures such as the Erotic Gherkin and London City Hall.

Xander had harbored a small hope that something here might jar a memory for Spike, but nothing does. Spike says he doesn’t mind, though. He likes rambling around and getting takeaway from the friendly Chinese place down the street and popping into a pub now and then and riding the tube. And, frankly, both of them are happy to be an ocean away from the remnants of the Initiative as well.

The nightmares have continued for both of them. Spike’s outnumber Xander’s by about a three to one ratio, but it’s the horrible foreboding of disaster that really haunts Xander. He can’t shake the feeling that his dreams are some sort of sign, but he hasn’t shared this fear with Spike. He hasn’t shared his other fear, either: that as Spike continues to gain more confidence in himself he’ll one day leave Xander behind. For now, the two of them find comfort in each others’ arms and enjoy the dark hours they spend prowling the old city.

There are demons here, too, of course, but most of them are pretty inoffensive and they stay far away from the vampire and the scarred human. One night, though, they go to a club in Soho. While Spike is at the bar trying to get refills on their drinks, a tall, very pale man with long black hair and green eyes approaches Xander, who’s slouching against a wall, watching the dancers. The man is wearing a pair of dangerously low-slung jeans and nothing else. The colored lights flicker off his white, hairless chest.

“Fancy a go?” asks the man, lifting one eyebrow. He gestures towards the dance floor, but it’s pretty clear his offer extends to more than dancing.

Xander smiles at him. “It’s a little crowded there, man. Maybe we could find somewhere…quieter?”

The man grins back, revealing teeth that have never visited an orthodontist. “Sure, mate. Follow me.”

Xander trails behind the man as he winds his way through the sweaty clusters of people and toward the back of the club. When they come to an open doorway they walk through, then they meander through several small rooms until they come to one that contains nothing besides a few cardboard boxes and several large packages of toilet paper. It’s clear that the tall man has been here before. He deftly maneuvers Xander until Xander’s back is to the wall and his body is framed by the man’s long arms.

“Quiet enough for you, then?”

Xander peers up at him from under his shaggy hair. “Yeah. Privacy’s good, huh?” He slips his right hand into his back pocket, canting his hips just a bit. He leans his head to the side and sees the man’s pupils dilate.

The man puts one of his hands into his front pocket and removes a small bottle, which he waves in front of Xander. “Yeah?”

Xander shakes his head. “Nah. I like to just say no.”

“But you don’t say no to everything, do you?” the man asks, leaning forward slightly.

“Nope. Like, if you asked me now whether your ass is grass, I’d say yes.”

The man furrows his brows over this, but then notices that Xander is looking over his shoulder. He whips around to discover Spike standing there, fangs and yellow eyes gleaming in the overhead lights.

“Having a bit of a nosh, are we?” Spike asks.

The man snarls and then his face shifts, his own sharp teeth dropping down. “Who the fuck are you?”

Spike moves in a step closer. “Should be asking you that, mate, considering that’s my human you were about to bite into.”

The tall vampire snaps his head back to Xander, who’s now brandishing a stake. He snarls again and dances backward, only to find himself trapped against a wall by Spike and Xander. With nowhere to go, he roars and leaps toward Xander, but Spike catches him neatly and lunges for his neck. As the vampires grapple, Xander waits until he can get a clear shot at the stranger without endangering his own beloved. As soon as the opportunity presents itself, he plunges the stake into the vampire’s back and through its heart. It disappears in a cloud of dust.

Xander drops the stake and grabs Spike around the waist with both arms. “You okay?” he asks, checking him over for injuries.

“Am I okay?! What the bloody hell did you think you were doing?”

Spike is still vamped out and Xander kisses between the angry brows. “He tried to pick me up.”

“So?”

“So it was pretty obvious he was a vamp. And I didn’t really want to dust him in the middle of the dance floor, so I let him lead me back here.”

“You could have been killed!”

Xander kisses him again. “C’mon. I’ve wasted way scarier things than _him_. Besides, I saw you following.”

Spike’s face melts back to human. “He almost bit you.”

“No, he didn’t. Nobody bites me but you, okay?”

Spike frowns and then allows himself to lean into Xander’s chest. “Don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I don’t want me getting hurt either. Hey, I haven’t added a new scar for months now!”

Spike reaches up and caresses the new bump in Xander’s nose. “I like you as-is.”

Xander turns his head and presses his lips to Spike’s cool palm, at the same time using his hands to draw Spike’s hips up against his. “I’m fine.”

“You could’ve just told him to sod off.”

“Yeah, and then he would’ve moved onto somebody who didn’t know what he was. Somebody who wasn’t carrying Mr. Pointy.”

“Not your problem.”

“It kinda is.”

“You’re not demon-hunting for the government now, Xander.”

“No, I’m not. And General Shales can go take a flying fuck for all I care.” Xander stops to push his lips against Spike’s. “But I can’t just turn my back and let people get killed, Spike. Especially when it’s so easy to avoid.”

“You want to be a bloody hero?”

“No. I just want to be able to live with myself.”

Spike is silent for a few minutes, clearly thinking this over. Then he pulls back a little and looks earnestly into Xander’s eyes. “If you expect me to be a hero, too, Xan, I…I can’t do it. I don’t care who gets eaten as long as it’s not you.”

Xander chuckles softly. “Or Todd?”

“Or Zilla.” Spike sighs.

“Or Willow? Or Jen? Or—“

“All right! You made your point! But I don’t care about a bunch of bloody strangers in a club!”

Spike moves to pull away, but Xander won’t let him. “That’s fine, Spike. I don’t expect you to. You are who you are. But so am I. So if I go after a bad guy now and then, well, it’s what I do. You don’t have to help me. Or you can just enjoy the fighting and bloodshed if you want, okay?”

Spike’s quiet again. “Yeah. I do, you know? Like fighting.”

“Want to know a secret?” Xander whispers in his ear. “Me too.”

Spike blinks at him. “What?” Xander says. “You think vampires have some sort of monopoly on violence? A little melee now and then gets me juiced, too.”

Spike still seems uncertain how to respond, so Xander pulls him close again and locks their lips together. Spike responds by letting his mouth fall open and cupping his hands behind Xander’s head.

Xander lifts his head away to catch his breath. “But you know what I like even more than fighting?”

Spike’s eyes have gone slightly glassy. He shakes his head.

“You, baby,” Xander says, and he uses his body to push Spike up against the same wall where the tall vampire had thought to drain him. Before Spike can protest, Xander drops to his knees and unbuttons Spike’s fly. He’s not surprised to find him already hard, and Spike groans as Xander takes his length into his mouth.

In the past several weeks, Xander has learned many ways to make Spike feel good. With patience, thanks to vampire constitutions, their lovemaking sessions sometimes last for hours.

But this isn’t one of those times. Xander wants—they both want—hard and fast. So Xander licks at the red crown of Spike’s cock, tugs gently on the silver ring, nips a little at the foreskin, which has finally regrown, and then swallows Spike whole. He’s aware what the tight heat of his mouth and throat do to the vampire, and then he hums a little, knowing how Spike will react to the vibration.

And Spike does react. He grabs Xander’s hair in both fists, so hard that Xander almost yelps, and then he pistons his hips. “Oh, fuck…Xan…like that…fuck…Xan!” and then he spasms and Xander tastes the penny-lime flavor he’s come to relish.

When Spike’s muscles have relaxed and his grip on Xander’s hair has loosened, Xander stands and tucks Spike’s softening cock back into his tight jeans, then buttons him up. Spike wraps his arms around Xander’s waist and they lean together for another long kiss.

When their lips separate, they lean their foreheads together. “Xan,” Spike whispers. “Can’t...can’t bear the thought of losing you. You’re…you’re my world.”

Xander’s heart melts and he flashes a big, goofy grin.

 

It’s the following afternoon when Xander finally gets the nerve to pick up the phone.

“Rupert Giles.”

“Hey, G-Man. Xander.” Spike has seated himself on the couch next to him, his hand comfortingly on Xander’s knee.

“Xander! It’s good to hear from you.”

“Yeah, I’ve, uh, been meaning to call.”

“You received the parcel, I assume?”

Shit. He’s never even thanked the man for sending the watchers’ diaries. “Yeah, I did. Thanks, Giles. It was really…helpful.”

“Well, some day perhaps you’ll tell me why you wanted it.”

Xander looks at Spike, who smiles encouragingly. “Actually, uh, I want to tell you now. In person.”

There’s a brief pause. “Yes, well, perhaps next time I travel to the States—“

“I’m in London, Giles.”

“Now? Good Lord, why didn’t you say so?”

“I was getting to it. So could we meet, like, tonight?”

“Certainly. You know where my flat is. Why don’t you come round at eight?”

Yeah, Xander knows where his flat is. At Watchers’ Council headquarters. And he’s so not going anywhere near there with Spike.

“Actually, Giles, I was hoping we could meet somewhere else. Um, maybe a restaurant, or….”

“That’s fine, Xander.” Giles sounds puzzled, though. “Why don’t we meet in the café in the Great Court at the British Museum? I’ll be there anyway this evening.”

“Okay. And, umm….” Xander takes a deep breath. “I’m going to have someone with me, so don’t freak out, okay?”

“Why would I have cause to ‘freak out,’ Xander?” Wow. Xander can actually hear the set of quotes Giles puts around the phrase.

“I don’t…. It’s just going to be easier to explain in person. We’ll see you at eight, all right?”

“Very well. Goodbye, Xander.”

“’Bye, Giles.”

As soon as Xander hangs up the phone, he sags sideways against Spike’s shoulder.

“All right, luv?”

“This is going to be…interesting.”

“Don’t have to go, pet.”

Xander nuzzles Spike’s neck. “Yeah. I do.” He sighs. “Think you can distract me ‘til it’s time?”

“Might do,” answers Spike.

And he does.

 

[Chapter 1b](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10571.html#cutid1)


	2. 1b Loose Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful (NWS) art, and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 1b: Loose Ends**_  
**Chapter Title: 1b **Loose Ends   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful (NWS) art, and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)for vetting my British!

Some chapters, like this one, are longish, so I'll post them in two parts.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)

      Spike’s mouth drops open as soon as they step inside the Great Court and Xander has to tow him by one hand. Spike is busy staring up at the soaring glass ceiling. It’s a clear night and the moon is shining brightly overhead. They’re running slightly late—the distracting having proved a bit more successful than was planned—but Xander sees that the reading room is still open and he drags Spike over for a quick peek. Spike practically drools at the rows and rows of books, and Xander just spends a few minutes watching him. So much of the world is still new to Spike, and Xander loves to watch his vampire when he’s lost in childlike wonder.

But there’s no point in ticking Giles off by being really late, so he grabs Spike’s hand again and hauls him deeper into the Court.

He spies Giles before the man sees them. He’s sitting at one of the long tables by himself, a white cup of what must be tea in his hand, a large book in front of him. He looks good, Xander thinks. Maybe a little grayer than last time they saw each other, but trimmer, too. Xander supposes the fiancée might have something to do with that. He’s not dressed in his familiar tweeds, but instead wears blue jeans, a white button-down shirt, and a brown leather coat.

Giles glances up and sees Xander and he smiles. He places the cup on the table and stands. He obviously doesn’t recognize Spike yet. The hair probably helps—it’s no longer dyed and gelled—and the duster is gone. The swagger is gone, too, and in fact, Spike is pretty much hiding behind Xander at this point. The fact that Xander is attached to another man doesn’t seem to faze him, but then, he’s known for some time that Xander is gay.

Then his smile falters, and at first Xander assumes it’s because he’s realized who Xander’s brought with him. But Giles’s eyes haven’t left Xander’s face. “Good Lord, Xander! What happened?”

Xander brings his hand up and fingers the scar. Most of the time, he forgets it’s there. “Cut myself shaving,” he grins. When Giles frowns, he relents a little. “It was a demon, but it’s old news. Don’t you think it gives me an air of menace? Like, here’s scary danger guy?”

Giles’s shoulders relax a little. “Of course. I’m sorry. I just didn’t—“

“Don’t worry about it.” They’re standing very close now, but Giles seems not to have noticed Spike yet.

“You look very well, actually, Xander.”

“Other than the face? Actually, I am well, thanks. And, umm, this is….” Xander has no idea how to say it, so he just pushes Spike gently forward so the watcher can get a good look at him. He can feel the tension in Spike’s body, so he keeps his arm wrapped around the vampire’s shoulders.

Xander watches as the expression on Giles’s face goes from mild interest, to confusion, to realization, to astonishment, to horror.

Giles steps back so quickly he almost falls. “Bloody hell! That’s—“

“Giles, you remember Spike. Obviously. Spike, meet Rupert Giles.”

Giles has snatched his teaspoon off the table and is holding it in front of him like a weapon. Spike tries to hide behind Xander again.

Xander steps forward and now Giles is brandishing the spoon at him. “You…you….”

“I told you not to freak out, Giles. It’s okay.” And because he’d strongly suspected how this was going to go down, he has come prepared. He reaches into his front pants pocket—the one he’d warned Spike to stay far away from—and pulls out a wooden cross. He holds it in his palm, well away from the vampire.

“Look, Giles. No crisping skin. I’m still alive, see?”

Giles relaxes a little bit at this, but he doesn’t drop the spoon, either. The few other people in the Court are watching them curiously, probably amazed at Giles’s very un-British-like display.

“Can we sit down, please, Giles?”

“But that’s William the Bloody!”

Xander sighs. “I know who he is. I promise, though, nobody’s going to get hurt, okay?” He says this as much to comfort Spike as Giles. Because although the chip is no longer an issue, Spike continues to be a little fearful of humans. Which is reasonable enough, Xander supposes.

Xander shoves the cross back in his pocket. He pulls out two chairs and sinks into one of them, then pulls Spike down into the other. Spike has his arms wrapped around himself and looks tight as a coiled spring, but at least he’s sitting.

After a long moment, Giles sits across from them. He carefully places the spoon on the table and looks warily at them both. He takes a deep breath. “Right. Care to explain, Xander?”

“That’s why I’m here. To explain. It’s kind of a long story, though.”

Giles settles a little more into his chair. “Take your time. Jane’s here tonight and we can stay as long as we wish.”

That’s right. The fiancée’s a curator here. Xander wonders if he’ll get to meet her, and then has an insane image in his head of a double-date.

He scoots his chair a little so that he’s closer to Spike and puts his arm around his shoulders. Spike does what he always does in that situation, especially on a cold December night—he leans in against his warm human.

“So, I want to start first with the most important thing, which is that I love Spike. I mean, I’m in love with him. Totally. Head over heels. Which is a stupid expression anyway, isn’t it?” He realizes he may be babbling right now, but Giles is staring at him open-mouthed. Spike, on the other hand, turns his head and dazzles him with his sunniest smile. Which doesn’t necessarily help with the talking.

“Xander, I…well….” And there go the glasses. Xander had been wondering how long it would take before the polishing began. “How did…er…why….”

Xander decides to help him out. “It wasn’t exactly what I was expecting, Giles,” he says, and squeezes Spike gently.

“Me either, pet,” Spike murmurs.

“Maybe I should start from the beginning. You know about the Initiative, right?”

Giles frowns. “Yes, well, not many details, but….”

“So let me tell you what they did.”

Xander relates the whole story. He doesn’t go deeply into the gruesome specifics of what happened to Spike, but he tells enough that Giles’s demeanor towards the vampire changes from terror to something else entirely. Spike says almost nothing, just occasionally quietly adding a particular or two when Xander asks.

Giles keeps wiping at his glasses until Xander’s amazed the lenses haven’t completely eroded away. Sometimes he interjects a mumbled “Dear Lord!” or a “Bloody hell!” and once a “Christ!”

By the time Xander’s done, they are the only ones left in the Court, except for a cleaning crew that’s busy mopping down the floor.

Giles absently takes a sip of his tea, which is of course ice cold, and grimaces. He puts the cup back down, clearly wishing he had something stronger to drink.

“So you wanted the diaries, then—“

“For Spike. So he could learn something about himself. Where he came from, and—oh, shit.” They hadn’t mentioned Angel yet. “Um, Giles? When Spike was in Omaha and they were making him kill demons? We’re pretty sure one of the ones he killed was Angel.”

Giles looks at him in shock. He wasn’t a real fan of Angel, especially considering what Angelus had done to Jenny Calendar, and then there was the whole torture episode. But still, this must be an unpleasant surprise. He looks at Spike.

“You killed Angel?”

Spike ducks his head. “Didn’t know who he was then.”

“No, of course, the…the wipe. But—“

“Giles, Spike says that Angel deliberately let Spike win that fight.”

Giles looks up at the blackness of the sky, then back down. “After you asked for the diaries, I did a little research of my own. I found a few sketchy reports on Spike—something about him being in San Francisco several years ago, I believe. He didn’t seem to be causing any trouble.”

Xander and Spike both nod. “Yeah, Giles. Maggie Walsh said they caught him near there. He’d already been chipped so he couldn’t hurt any humans then.”

“After Buffy left, Angel went to Los Angeles. He had some sort of…detective agency…there for a short time. A former classmate of yours was working for him, actually.”

“Really? Who?”

“Cordelia Chase.”

Now it’s Xander’s turn to gape. “Cordelia _Chase_?”

“Yes. But only for a few months. After Buffy died….” He looks suddenly years older as he says those words. “After Buffy died, he completely disappeared. Not a single sighting, and Ms. Chase and his other employee never heard from him again.”

Xander rubs his eyes with the hand that’s not holding Spike’s. “Fuck. I wonder how long those bastards had him.”

All three of them are silent for several minutes, lost in their own unpleasant thoughts. Finally, Giles shakes his head. “So what has happened to the Initiative now, Xander?”

Xander allows himself a small, satisfied smile. “After my report to General Shales, their funding was cut. They shut down the base in Omaha—fuck knows what happened to all the prisoners they had there—and Walsh and some of her pet minions have pretty much vanished.”

Spike snarls a little at this. Xander knows he’s caught between the desire never to set eyes on the white-coated bitch again, and the hunger to shred her to tiny little bits. Actually, Xander feels pretty much the same way himself.

“So the two of you?”

“As far as anybody knows, I dusted Spike months ago. And I’m now on an extended vacation.”

Now Giles looks down and plays with the spoon, rocking it back and forth on the white plastic table. When he looks up again, his face is drawn and solemn.

“Xander, Spike, what happened was…unconscionable. And I understand your desire to undo as much damage as you could. But now, I—“ Suddenly, he stops. And as Xander and Spike look at him questioningly, he looks back at them, taking in the way their bodies lean together, the little circles that Spike is drawing on the back of Xander’s hand with his fingers. He clears his throat.

“I was going to say that a relationship between a human and a vampire—an unsouled vampire—is a terrible mistake.”

Xander can just about feel his hackles rising. “Look, Giles, I—“

Giles holds up his hand. “Wait. Let me finish. I _was_ going to say that, but I’m not. The truth is…the truth is you’re a grown man, Xander, and old enough to make your own decisions. And you two look happy together. Willow tells me you’re doing better than you’ve been in years, although she didn’t tell me why.

“And Spike.” The vampire tenses again. “I’ve read those diaries as well and I know that you have an unusual ability for…loyalty…to those you love. If you love Xander, then I trust you not to harm him.”

Spike blinks at this. He obviously hadn’t expected this from the watcher. Neither had Xander, actually.

Very softly, Xander says, “Thanks, G-Man.”

Giles absently attempts another sip of his cold tea. “What are your plans now?”

Xander and Spike look briefly at each other, then Xander shrugs. “We don’t really have any. I wanted to stay away from home for a while, in case Shales or someone was spying on me. Didn’t want them to see Spike’s still around.”

“Yes, of course.”

“So we’ve been just kind of…sightseeing.”

“Xander, er….” He laces his fingers in his lap. “You know you’re still welcome to join the Council?”

But Xander shakes his head vigorously. “No. A world of no. I wasn’t interested before, and that was before the vampire boyfriend.”

“I’d hoped you’d reconsider. You seem at loose ends and we could really—“

“Giles, no!” Xander abruptly stands, nearly toppling his chair. Spike stands as well, looking at him with alarm. “We’ve been through this years ago! I’ve spent enough of my life already fighting the good fight, stopping fucking apocalypses, seeing people I love die, and….” His voice trails off. Giles is more a father to him than Tony Harris ever was, but he just doesn’t know how to get through to him about this, and he’s tired of trying. He’s touched by how understanding the man is about Spike, but he’s about ready to walk out and never speak to him again.

Giles stands, too. His hands are up in front of his chest. “Xander…I’m sorry. I truly am. I didn’t intend to upset you, and….” He chews his lip for a moment. “I won’t bring it up again. Please forgive me.”

Xander takes a deep, shaky breath and collapses back into his chair. Spike sits down on his lap and wraps his arm around Xander’s back, and Xander leans against him. Nobody says anything for a while.

Finally, Xander looks across at Giles. “I’m sorry, too, Giles. I just…it’d ruin me, you know? I’d end up like Ethan Rayne or something. If I didn’t die first.”

“Xander, you could never end up like him.”

“Why do you say that? You don’t think I have darkness in me? If you’d seen some of the things I did with the Initiative….” Xander and Spike both shudder, for slightly different reasons.

“But you walked away from that.”

“That time. Maybe I wouldn’t the next.”

Giles goes back to playing with his spoon. “Xander, everyone has that darkness inside them. Not everyone has the strength to overcome it. But some do, perhaps even when that darkness is a true demon.” He looks at Spike as he says this, then turns his gaze to Xander. “You do.

“But, be that as it may, I won’t ask you again about the Council. And I’ll ensure that the Council relinquishes any claims it may have, so that you’re no longer obliged to work for the U.S. government, either.”

Deep inside Xander’s heart, a vicious sliver of ice begins to melt.

Spike is peering at Giles through narrowed eyes. “You mean this, Watcher? You’ll set him free?”

“I shall.”

Xander is pretty sure that if Spike wasn’t weighing down his lap, he’d have melted right out of the chair in relief.

Giles looks at them both earnestly. “But I want you to know that if you should ever need my help, you should feel free to ask me.”

“Even me, Watcher?”

“Even you, Spike. For Xander’s sake.”

Spike lets out a little puff of air and Xander reaches across the table. He grasps Giles’s hand. “Hey, man. Thanks. I mean….” Okay, he’s already had more than his quota of crying this year. He is _not_ going to tear up again.

Giles squeezes his hand and stands. “Perhaps you’d like a little tour of the museum? I believe Jane is skulking around the Egyptian collections. I’d like you to meet her.”

“Sure, Giles. I’d like that.” Xander gently pushes Spike off his legs and then they follow Giles across the floor and up the stairs. Spike’s head swivels from side to side as they pass through the galleries, and Xander decides that he’ll find out later if the museum is open after dark. He suspects Spike would enjoy spending more time looking around.

As they approach the mummies, a little shiver runs down Xander’s spine. Sure, these are Egyptian rather than Incan, but still…Spike is pretty much the only dead guy he wants in his life right now.

A woman suddenly pops out from behind a display case, and Xander has to choke back a girly scream. She’s about forty, short and slim, with olive skin and frizzy black hair that’s escaping from a ponytail. She’s wearing jeans and a man’s blue oxford shirt, and she’s carrying a clipboard in one arm.

Spike stiffens and stops breathing, but before Xander can ask him what’s wrong, the woman is stepping forward with a friendly smile.

“Taking your visitors for a circuit of the collections, Rupert?”

Giles plants a quick kiss on her cheek. “Darling, this is Xander Harris and, erm, Spike. Gentlemen, Jane Monroe.”

Xander shakes her hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She politely ignores the look of terror on Spike’s face and smiles at them both. “It’s a pleasure. Rupert has told me so much about you, Xander. And Spike, is this your first visit to London?”

“Was born here,” Spike manages to mumble.

Jane’s eyes light up. “Really? Where?”

Spike looks even more panicked than before, but Giles steps in smoothly. “Actually, dear, Spike is suffering from, erm, amnesia. He doesn’t recall much of his life before recently.”

Spike and Xander both shoot the man thankful looks, and Jane’s smile disappears. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to bring up a painful subject.”

Xander smiles at her. “Of course not. You couldn’t have known.”

Xander spends a few minutes of small talk with the woman while trying to figure out what about her is bothering Spike so much. Then he realizes what Spike is staring at: the clipboard. Shit. Like Walsh and her followers always carried. He pulls Spike against himself and the vampire seems to relax a little.

Giles claps his hand to Jane’s back. “Well, it’s getting quite late. I don’t know your plans, but perhaps you could join us for dinner tomorrow?”

Xander raises his eyebrows at Spike, who gives a tiny nod. “That’d be great, Giles.”

“Why don’t you ring me up tomorrow afternoon and we can arrange a time and place, all right?”

“Sure.” Should be fine, as long as Jane doesn’t bring her clipboard with her.

“Yes, well, I’ll just see you out then.”

Jane gives them another warm smile. “It’s been lovely to meet you two. I’ll be looking forward to tomorrow.”

Xander makes a few final pleasantries and even Spike murmurs a word or two, and then they take their leave. As they weave their way back through the galleries, Xander asks, “Hey, Giles, how much does she know about, um, your work?”

“If you mean to ask whether she’s aware of the existence of demons and the like, she is. She’s actually a practitioner of Wicca herself.”

“Oh, so she and Willow would get along, huh?”

“Yes, they’ve already begun an email correspondence.”

“But vampires?”

“With your permission, Spike, I would like to tell her you’re a vampire. I don’t like to keep secrets from her.”

Spike frowns a little. “She won’t try to stake me, will she?”

Giles laughs. “No, I rather doubt it.”

“’S all right, then.”

“Thank you, Spike.”

Xander starts to giggle helplessly. Guess they’re going to double-date after all.

 

It’s a long walk back to their flat, and cold, but they both have a lot of nervous energy to burn off. Spike’s still dealing with his reaction to the clipboard—it wasn’t so much the fear itself, Xander thinks, as the reminder that he’s still afraid sometimes. Xander, on the other hand, feels like an enormous weight has been lifted from his shoulders. Not just because he can finally tell Shales to go fuck himself, but because the rift between Xander and Giles seems to be healed.

They wander through mostly-deserted streets, both of them huddled into their heavy coats and scarves. Xander smiles to himself, knowing that Spike has the chemical hand-warmers Xander had bought him stuffed in his pockets. One grope with literally icy-cold fingers had convinced Xander of the wisdom of that purchase. Xander’s breath puffs in front of him in little clouds; Spike’s, of course, does not.

Neither of them says anything. A suspicious looking person lurches out of some shadows—a S’bocan, Xander thinks, or maybe even another Tenrulra. It’s hard to tell when they’re bundled under so much clothing. But Spike simply vamps out and snarls, and the whatever-it-is hightails it in the other direction.

As they reach home, Xander’s so chilled he can barely speak through chattering teeth. The vestibule of their building, which is actually pretty drafty, feels nice and toasty in comparison to the outside air. When they get into their flat, Xander puts on the kettle and makes them both big cups of hot chocolate. Spike turns up the thermostat, collapses onto a chair, and starts shedding layers of clothing.

By the time they’ve emptied their mugs they’re naked and entwined on the floral-patterned couch. Then Xander has an idea. “Be back in a sec, baby,” he says, untangling himself from Spike. Spike rolls his eyes and sighs.

In addition to the convenient location and lack of direct sunlight, the flat has another good feature—a really big bathtub. Xander fills the tub now with water as hot as he can possibly stand, then gets in. “Hey, Spike!’ he calls. “C’mere!”

Spike wanders in and stares down at Xander. He’s still pouting.

“Climb in, sweetheart.”

“’M not dirty.”

“I can fix that,” Xander says, giving his very best leer.

Finally, Spike gets the idea and he clambers into the water, splashing a good amount of it on the pink tile floor. He settles with his back against Xander’s chest and Xander’s arms wrapped around his torso.

Xander presses his mouth against Spike’s curls. “Feels good, huh?”

“Yeah. Warm,” Spike answers, and deliberately wiggles backward against Xander.

Slowly, Xander lets one hand slide down Spike’s abdomen until it comes to the crisp hairs. Xander combs through them with his fingers soothingly and feels Spike melt against him. Spike lays his hands on Xander’s thighs and massages gently, while Xander nuzzles and sucks at Spike’s neck.

Now he drops his hand a little lower and grasps Spike’s hard cock. His is hard as well, and trapped between his belly and Spike’s perfect ass. As he begins to move his hand leisurely up and down, Spike makes a quiet noise, somewhere between a moan and a purr, and rocks his hips slightly in tandem with Xander’s motions.

Xander could probably go on like this until dawn—or at least until the water gets too cold—but Spike gets impatient and, with a low growl, suddenly flips around so that he’s straddling Xander’s legs and they’re chest to chest and groin to groin. Spike rests his forearms on Xander’s shoulders and they press their mouths together, their tongues moving in and out at the same speed that their cocks are rubbing together. Xander’s hands are curled under Spike’s ass, squeezing and kneading the powerful muscles.

Spike dips his head down and rumbles in Xander’s ear: “Want to ride you, pet.”

Xander grins at him and, like a magician, produces a bottle of lube. “Your wish is my command.”

Spike’s eyes crackle from blue to gold and back, almost too quickly to see, and he grabs the bottle. He pours some into his hand, places the bottle on the edge of the tub, and then stands. He puts one foot on the side of the tub and, as Xander watches avidly, reaches behind himself and starts fingering his own hole. Spike’s long, slick digits glide in and out. His mouth is open and his eyes are half-shut, his jutting cock wet and tempting.

Xander groans and Spike smirks down at him, and in that moment Xander sees the vampire he first met, the gleeful predator who strutted down the halls of Sunnydale High. Not that he likely would have found himself naked in a bathtub with _that_ Spike.

Spike removes his hand but, instead of impaling himself on Xander’s eager cock, as Xander has expected, he remains standing and starts languorously caressing himself. His eyes are locked on Xander’s face, but Xander is hypnotized by the slow, erotic strokes, by the tiny swaying of Spike’s pelvis.

“Change,” he says, his voice as he utters this single word as rough as sandpaper.

Spike’s hips jerk forward and a thick spurt of precome appears at the tip of his cock. His eyes blaze topaz and his white teeth lengthen and sharpen. Xander has an almost physical need to kiss his scarred brow.

Spike continues to fondle himself and Xander reaches up and leans his palm against one of the vampire’s smooth thighs. His own cock twitches impatiently and Xander seizes it, maybe a bit roughly, and rubs it in rhythm with Spike.

“Want me, pet?” Spike hisses.

Xander can barely rasp out a reply. “Need you, baby.”

In one smooth movement, Spike drops down, pushes Xander’s hand away, and sinks onto Xander’s hard length. He’s warm inside from the bath and Xander gasps. “Jesus, Spike—“

But any further words become impossible when Spike leans forward and buries his fangs in the juncture of Xander’s neck and shoulder.

Now all Xander can do is writhe and moan unintelligibly, feeling the slow, slow draw of blood from his vein; the smooth, tight, wetness surrounding his cock; the hard, thrusting eagerness of Spike against his belly. He closes his eyes and bashes the back of his head against the tub as tingling fire flashes through his body and as Spike’s cool seed splashes onto his chest.

Spike slows and stills. He licks the small wounds he has made, and Xander knows that by the time he wakes up they’ll be barely visible. Spike lets his body fall forward until he is pressed firmly against Xander, and he rolls his head so it’s resting on Xander’s shoulder. He sucks delicately at the tender skin over the carotid and Xander shivers.

“Water’s getting cold,” he whispers.

Spike reaches behind himself and pulls the plug. “Put in hot, luv,” he says and goes back to licking Xander’s sensitized skin.

Xander leans and stretches awkwardly around his lover to turn the tap on. When the tub is once again full and steaming, Spike disengages himself. But before Xander can protest, he resettles himself where he began, cradled between Xander’s legs, his damp head leaning back against Xander’s shoulder. Xander wraps him up in his arms again and allows his eyes to close.

The only sound is his own breathing and the drip of the faucet.

He thinks that if had to bottle one moment of his life and relive it for eternity, this would be an excellent candidate.

 

[Chapter 2a](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10821.html#cutid1)

  



	3. 2a Homeward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to[](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful (NSFW) art, and to[](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:**| [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 2a: Homeward**_  
**Chapter Title:** 2a Homeward   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to[](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful (NSFW) art, and to[](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

Some chapters, like this one, are longish, so I'll post them in two parts.

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/) 

They meet the watcher and his lady friend at an Indian place in Kensington. Spike would have thought Xander had had his fill of curries after New York, but he didn’t seem to mind when Giles suggested this spot. Spike doesn’t care. He’s already had a couple bags of blood and a few sips of Xander, but he knows Xander will order something fiery for him too.

The lady friend—call her Jane, she’d said—looks a lot less threatening now, without the sodding clipboard. In fact, she’s staring at Spike with wide and wondering eyes, and Spike realizes that Giles must have told her he’s a vampire. He wonders what else he’s told her.

Spike and Xander are sitting next to each other in a green, padded booth, their denim-clad thighs pressed together. Xander is telling a story about some K’z’zpon he’d fought, and he seems more relaxed than he’s been in weeks. This is a relief to Spike, because Xander had once again woken up screaming this afternoon. The same bloody nightmare.

Spike sighs quietly and squishes a little closer to his human. He knows Xander loves him—he bloody well proved it when they removed the collar, didn’t he?—but he can’t help feeling that he’s going to lose him. The dream is proof that at some level, Xander’s uncomfortable with a vampire boyfriend, maybe doesn’t completely trust Spike, and who can blame him? Some day he’s going to come to his senses. If he doesn’t get himself killed first.

Without stopping his story, maybe without even realizing it, Xander rests a hand on Spike’s knee and squeezes it gently. Spike sighs again. The world is less of a bewildering ordeal than it was a few months ago, but still, the only things keeping him from taking a walk in the sun are Xander and the hope of wreaking revenge against the Initiative fuckers. And he can even manage without the revenge bit, especially when he envisions Turner’s body slowly rotting in chains in the bowels of Sunnydale.

His reverie is interrupted by a soft nudge from Xander.

“Spike? Jane’s talking to you.”

Spike looks at the woman, whose hair is standing around her head in a wild halo. “Sorry. I was woolgathering.”

She smiles at him, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s okay. I was just wondering whether you’d mind if I asked you some nosy questions.”

“About being—About what I am?”

“Well, that’s more Rupert’s line of work, really. I was more interested in whether you could recall anything from when, um, when you were young.”

Giles pats her hand fondly. “Jane has just realized she has a genuine, walking, talking Victorian in front of her.”

“I can’t help being an historian, darling.”

Spike slumps back against the seat. “Sorry, luv. I don’t remember anything before the last year or two.”

“Spike, who was Prime Minister in 1880?”

The answer pops right into his head. “Gladstone or Disraeli.”

“And who was Sir Henry Irving?”

“Shylock…er, an actor. He played Shylock.”

“Did you see him on stage?”

Spike shrugs. He has no idea. But Jane is smiling encouragingly at him. “See? You do remember quite a lot, don’t you?”

Brilliant. And if he’s ever a contestant in a 19th century trivia game, he’ll knock ‘em dead. So to speak. But the woman’s eyes are sparkling. “If it’s bothering you that I’m asking, please let me know and I’ll shut up.”

Xander gives him a squeeze and Spike shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. I just can’t….I don’t really know what I know.”

As Spike digs into his biryani, he contentedly fields questions on coaches and plumbing and clothing and architecture. As long as the questions are abstract, he has no problem with them. It’s only when they become personal that he draws a blank. Jane listens avidly. She looks like she’d be taking notes if she could. Giles and Xander each watch their beloved, with almost identical expressions of fond amusement on their faces.

By the time the food is gone, they’ve all drunk a lot of Kingfisher. It doesn’t have any effect on Spike, but the humans are all slightly giddy, even the watcher. Spike suspects that he’s suffered as much as Xander from their estrangement. In any case, a genuine warmth now flows between the two men, and Spike loves watching Xander laugh.

It gets very late and the waiters are starting to glare impatiently at them. They are all talking about possible plans for the future when the theme from _Mission Impossible_ plays. Xander’s phone.

“’’Scuse me,” Xander says. He stands and walks to restaurant entrance and answers it. Spike strains to hear what he says but he’s too far away, even for vampire hearing, and his back is to them. He’s dressed all in grays and blacks, and, as the street lights pour in through the big picture window and frame his large body, Spike thinks he looks like a shadow.

When Xander returns to the table, his face is pale and grim. “That was Todd,” he says. “Some men came by the house today looking for me. A tall handsome guy and an smiling Asian guy with a short haircut.”

Oh, fuck.

 

They have an argument early that morning, shouting at each other as they stomp through the streets so they don’t disturb the other people in their building. Spike says that if those Initiative arseholes are stalking Xander, the best thing to do is stay far away. On another continent is a good start.

Xander, though, is adamant. “What if they do something to Todd?” he yells. “And if they can find Todd, they can probably find Willow and her family.”

A sick feeling settles in Spike’s stomach at this, but he shakes his head. He doesn’t want anything bad to happen to Zilla or Red, but he’s even more concerned about Xander.

“So you want to go right back into the wolves’ den, Xan? You don’t know how many of them there are or what kind of weapons they have, and this time you don’t have the bloody Army to back you up. Just one useless vampire.”

Xander stops in his tracks and whirls to face Spike. He grabs his shoulders and nearly slams him into the nearby building. “You’re not _useless_, Spike! You’re strong and smart and the most important thing in my stupid fucking life, okay? And I’m not going to spend the rest of my stupid fucking life hiding from those bastards like a rabbit in a hole!”

Xander’s hands drop to his sides and he turns away.

Spike wants to argue with him. But he can’t, because deep inside he knows Xander’s right. They need to face up to Walsh and company, even if it means they’re going to die. He shifts his face and growls and punches the wall behind him so hard that the brick crumbles and his knuckles scream in pain. He draws his hand back to do it again but his fist is caught in warm, large hands. He twists around and Xander is cradling his bloody hand in his own, his face a drawn mask of misery.

“Don’t,” Xander says softly. “Don’t hurt yourself, baby.”

Spike roars in anger and frustration and sadness, but lurches against Xander’s chest and then they just stand there, clutching each other tightly in the dark.

 

The watcher helps them find a charter flight back to Boston. He insists on paying for it with Council funds, saying that the Council owes Xander a great deal for his previous work. “Bloody right,” Spike mutters under his breath, but Xander and Giles ignore him.

Xander has told Giles what’s happening and, although the watcher looks deeply unhappy, he reminds them of his promise to help them whenever they need him. He and Xander embrace affectionately and even Spike gets a hearty handshake.

They tell the charter company that Spike is some sort of eccentric pop star. He doesn’t know whether the charter company believes this—maybe they don’t care, so long as their exorbitant fees are paid—but in any event they go along unquestioningly with his odd demands. The small jet leaves London shortly after sundown. Spike spends the flight in a specially light-proofed compartment. Not that he has to slum it—the compartment is equipped with a wet bar and flat panel telly and a library of DVDs.

Spike has never flown before and he feels tense and edgy. But Xander shares his compartment, and, when they figure out how to make the seats fold flat into beds, Xander finds some altogether pleasant ways to divert him. In fact, when the pilot announces they’re beginning their descent into Logan airport, Spike rather wishes they could have a few more hours in the air.

It’s the middle of the night by the time they get through customs and immigration, and they don’t want to disturb Willow and Jen. They catch a cab and then check into the same hotel they’d stayed at before. Neither of them can sleep, however, so they curl up together on the big bed and channel surf. _Sweeney Todd_ is on and they watch that for a while but it makes Spike hungry and they don’t have any blood. Xander orders up some steaks from room service and requests one of them really, really rare. It takes a little of the edge off his appetite.

Eventually they turn off the telly and they burrow into the familiar position that comforts them both, Xander’s large, warm body spooning up against Spike’s back. Spike can’t help but think back on all the cold, lonely hours he’d spent in that cell, and how he would have traded his soul then—if he had one—for even five minutes cocooned in loving arms. He sighs and Xander mouths gently at the back of his neck.

“Got a bit of a fetish, there, pet?”

Xander snorts. “Look who’s talking.”

“Vampire.”

“Yeah, well, what can I say? You’ve been training me well.”

“Pet?”

“Hmmm?” Xander licks right along the line where the collar once dug in.

“Wouldn’t you rather have a…normal boyfriend?”

Xander snorts again. “Baby, youare totally normal compared to some of the…people…I’ve had relationships with.” And he presses closer, his thickening cock nestling closely against the cleft in Spike’s arse.

“But.… Okay, maybe the demon bit is nothing new for you. But don’t you want someone who can go out in the sun with you? Who has a proper job so he doesn’t need to be kept like a sodding rentboy? Who doesn’t go all a-quiver over a bloody clipboard?”

Xander stops sucking on Spike’s neck and pulls at his shoulders until they’re facing each other. His chocolate eyes stare into Spike’s and he says, “No. I don’t give a shit about any of those things. I want _you_, Spike. Not anybody else.” And he demonstrates his sincerity with a long slow kiss.

After a few minutes he pulls away, and most of Spike believes him. There’s still a mocking voice of doubt in his head—_Why would this incredible man want rubbish like you?_—and he tells it to shut the fuck up. Between the demon and the deactivated chips, he’s got enough shite in his skull as it is.

But now Xander is frowning at him. “Okay, while we’re being all Mr. Insecurity, are you sure I’m what _you_ want? You haven’t really given yourself a chance to try anything else out, you know? I’m not sure if you were even into guys before.”

“’M not into ‘guys,’ pet, I’m into _you_.” And that statement is actually almost literal, as he is slowly rolling his hips and his cock is trying to burrow its way between Xander’s legs.

“Why, Spike? Because I rescued you?”

“You think you’re Florence bloody Nightingale, Xander?”

Xander suddenly flips over onto his back. “No, Spike. I’m just this fuck-up who’s never managed to accomplish anything, and—“

Spike growls and pounces so that he’s sitting astride Xander. “Never accomplished anything, huh?” He leans down, his face inches from Xander’s. “Rescued me.” He begins to punctuate each sentence with a kiss. “Twice. Helped save the bleeding world before you even graduated high school. Kept God knows how many people from being hurt by wiping out nasty demons. Survived the Hellmouth. Made a friends with a few good people. Built beautiful things with your hands. Got out of the clutches of those bastards who called themselves your parents.” He’s gradually working his way down Xander’s body and he pauses for a moment to tongue one of Xander’s brown nipples. “Made a broken vampire feel like he is a man.”

Xander arches his hips upwards now as Spike turns his attention to his other nipple. Xander combs his fingers through Spike’s unruly curls. Spike’s not sure why, but he loves it when Xander does that.

“So,” Xander says, somewhat breathlessly. “We’re square then? You want me and—“ Spike nips at the nipple with his blunt teeth. “God!—and I want you. We want—Shit, Spike!—we want each other.”

Spike hums an affirmative noise against the center of Xander’s chest. Then he sits back up again and grabs both their leaking cocks together in his fist. Xander grins up at him and wraps his larger hand around Spike’s. They maintain eye contact as they stroke themselves. Xander does his best to buck upwards under Spike’s weight, and Spike responds by rocking his hips.

Xander starts to snicker, and Spike cocks an eyebrow at him. “Will you still be my—fuck, like that—my rentboy, Spike?”

Spike curls his tongue behind his teeth. “I don’t come cheap, luv.”

“Just as long as you come.” Xander snickers again and squeezes his hand—and Spike’s—a little harder around their hungry lengths.

Spike rolls his eyes. Xander opens his mouth to say something else, and Spike stops him by collapsing downward and pressing his lips demandingly against Xander’s. Now Xander can only moan. He cups his free hand against Spike’s arse and rubs up and down the crack, then presses a finger into Spike’s entry, which is still slick from their mutual enrollment in the Mile High Club. Spike responds by swiveling his pelvis deeper and more vigorously.

Spike feels almost glutted with pleasure from the heady taste of his lover’s mouth to the delicious friction of his calloused hand and stiff cock to the welcome intrusion of his nimble finger. He writhes and groans and the beautiful man under him writhes and groans right back and then one of them is coming, or maybe both, Spike’s not sure and doesn’t care because he’s lost track of where his cold, dead body ends and Xander’s warm, living one begins.

 

They sleep until noon and then Xander goes to fetch the van. It’s a Saturday and Willow is home, so Spike knows he’ll be a while as he fills the witch in on what’s happening. While he’s gone, Spike paces around the small hotel room, avoiding the sliver of weak light that sneaks in around the edge of the beige curtains. The more he paces, the more agitated he becomes, until finally he collapses on the bed just so he can surround himself with Xander’s scent.

Xander returns at last, his hands laden with paper bags. “Dinner!” he grins.

Spike jumps up and Xander thrusts one of the bags into his hands. It’s heavy, and when Spike opens it he discovers several clear plastic bags of blood. “Rob a blood bank on your way home, pet?”

“Nope. Giles told Willow we were coming and she stocked up.” He chuckles. “The twins saw the stuff and Jen told them it was Uncle Spike’s special juice. Sam wanted to try some.”

Spike rips one of the bags and nearly swallows it all in one long draught. It’s cold, but it tastes good anyway. Not as good as Xander, of course.

Xander has sat down at the little round table and opened the other bag. “Got McDonald’s here if you want some of that, too.”

“Can I dip some chips in blood?”

“Eww, but go ahead. I’ll just tell myself it’s ketchup.” Xander pushes the cardboard container toward him.

“Didn’t think you were bothered by my drinking habits, luv.”

“I’m not. Just, mixing blood and Mickey D’s, it’s…un-American.”

Spike snorts at this and shoves a handful of the potatoes in his mouth. They’re still nice and hot.

Spike sits down on the chair opposite Xander and opens another bag. “What’s our plan?”

“We get in the van and drive west. Todd told those shits that I was out of the country, but maybe they’re still sniffing around, or else maybe we can at least pick up on their trail.”

“And when we find them?”

Xander shrugs. “I’m open to suggestions.”

The traitorous voice in Spike’s head—and, come to think of it, it sounds exactly like Turner’s southern drawl—hisses, _Maybe he’ll just hand you back over. After all, it’s your fault they’re after him_. Spike tells the bastard to shut it and he takes another long drink.

Xander swallows a bite of hamburger. “You know, I’d understand if…if you don’t want to be a part of this.”

Spike is incredulous. “Of course I don’t want to be a part of this! But they settled that when they stuck me in that hole, didn’t they?”

Xander puts down his Big Mac and rubs his face. “That’s not what I meant. This thing…. As far as they know, you’re dusted. They’re after me. You don’t have to go near them again, and I’ll totally understand if you don’t.”

Spike shakes his head. “They’re after _you_ because of what you did for _me_. Besides, did you think I’d just leave you to confront them alone? Do you think I’m that great of a coward?”

Xander stands up and comes over to kneel in front of Spike. He places his hands on Spike’s thighs. “You’re no coward. But I were in you shoes…if they’d done to me what they did to you…I don’t think I could bring myself to face them.”

Spike traces a hand along Xander’s scar. “I love you more than I fear them, pet.”

They set off at sundown. Because they want to cover the 3000 miles as quickly as possible, they drive in shifts, with Spike behind the wheel at night and Xander during the day. From Iowa City all the way to the Wyoming border, they both keep looking nervously behind them, half expecting the Initiative people to materialize along the nearly empty freeway. Of course, Xander says the base in Omaha has been shut down, and there’s no good reason to believe the tossers have stuck around the area. But still, they’re both relieved as they finally roll through Cheyenne.

West of Laramie they run into some nasty weather—mile after mile of packed ice and snow, with warnings on the radio of a blizzard ahead. They finally give up and check into a tiny motel with lumpy twin beds and a greasy diner attached. Spike is relieved that Willow had packed him extra blood, because they end up spending three nights there, playing cards and watching pay-per-view porn.

It’s only when they go to check out, and the elderly lady behind the counter says, “Have a Merry Christmas, boys!” that Spike realizes what day it is. He glances sidelong at Xander as Spike climbs behind the wheel, but Xander just seems happy to be on their way again.

Fifty miles down the road, tired of simply watching the headlights reflect off the deep piles of snow, Spike reaches over and pokes Xander in the leg. Xander has been staring out his window and humming tunelessly for a while; now he turns and smiles at Spike. “Yeah, baby?”

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“Huh?”

“Today’s Christmas and I didn’t get you anything.”

Xander’s eyebrows are raised. “I didn’t think vampires were real big on celebrating this holiday, Spike.”

“We’re not. But humans are.”

“So you’re feeling bad about not getting me a present?”

“Thought…thought you might be feeling bad about not getting one.”

Now Xander stretches his arm over and lays his hand on Spike’s leg. “You know how I spent Christmases when I was a kid?”

“Not caroling around the Yule log, I take it?”

“I don’t even know what a Yule log _is_, but whatever it is, I certainly didn’t sing near it. No, every year my aunts and uncles would come over and everyone would get really fucking drunk and start yelling and throwing things, and I’d spend the night camping out in the yard.”

Bloody hell. Spike really wishes he could sink his teeth into Xander’s parents.

Xander strokes his thigh. “Truth is, barreling down I-80 in the freezing cold, probably well on my way to some kind of catastrophe involving Maggie Walsh, with my undead boyfriend behind the wheel…this is the best Christmas I can remember.” He starts to laugh, and Spike can’t help laughing along with him.

 

[Chapter 2b](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/11254.html#cutid1)

 


	4. 2b Homeward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful (NSFW) art, and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:**| [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 2b: Homeward**_  
**Chapter Title:** 2b Homeward   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful (NSFW) art, and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

Some chapters, like this one, are longish, so I'll post them in two parts.

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)

New Years is better.

They’re back in Xander’s cheery little house and there’s a huge fire going. Todd is there with his half-breed Brachen, a muscular bloke who bears more than a passing resemblance to Xander and who calls himself Pan. “As in Peter?” Xander had asked, the first time Todd had mentioned his name.

“As in the Greek sex god,” Todd had replied, grinning.

Whatever he calls himself, Spike likes him. He’s quiet and funny and he clearly adores Todd. Spike figures Todd deserves some adoring.

Pan and Fiona have achieved a sort of truce, and so Todd has moved back into his old apartment. Pan spends about half his time in Sunnydale, where his family runs an import-export business of some kind, and half in Portland. Tonight, though, Todd and Pan will be staying over in Xander’s spare room.

Todd has cooked for the occasion, bringing over a spicy stew and cheese and crackers and a big platter of devilled eggs. Xander comments that the last item seems appropriate, given that he’s spending the night with two and a half demons. Xander has visited the liquor store and stocked up, which means that Spike is happily alternating shots of J.D. with big Bloody Marys, made with real blood, of course, and extra Tabasco.

By midnight even Spike is pretty pissed. The four of them are sitting on the floor trying to play Risk. Xander’s losing badly. He should know better than to play at world domination with a bunch of demons. But he doesn’t seem to mind, and he’s as happy as he’s been since the Initiative made its reappearance. He has his arm slung around Spike’s shoulders and a bottle in his hand, and he’s watching as Spike tries to wrest northern Africa from Todd’s hands.

They’ve been taking turns choosing CDs. Spike spent some time in New York and London prowling around music shops, and now he knows what he likes to listen to. Unfortunately, Xander tends to make gagging faces at both of the genres he likes best: classical music from the romantic period, and 1970’s punk. All three of them had protested loudly tonight when he’d put on a Dvořák disc, so instead they’ve been listening to the Buzzcocks and the Outcasts. Better in Spike’s view than Todd’s choices, which run to Europop, or Pan’s, which are some sort of Brazilian shite. And better by far than Xander’s, which alternate between country and heavy metal.

“You know, I was thinking,” Xander says.

“Dangerous, that,” mutters Spike, and Xander pokes him.

“I was thinking I could finally get around to fixing up the upstairs, and then you guys could move in here for good, if you wanted.”

He and Spike have discussed this already. Spike was touched at the way Xander asked his permission, even though it’s Xander’s house. Spike told Xander he didn’t mind at all. He gets bored sometimes when Xander’s at work, and, truth be told, he feels safer with more friends around him.

Friends. He suddenly feels like the luckiest being on the planet, Initiative be damned, and he smiles at Todd and Pan.

Todd grins back. “That sounds great, Xan.” Todd is sitting cradled in Pan’s long legs, leaning back against the Brachen’s chest. Now he leans forward and frowns a little, though. “But are you sure you guys are really safe staying here?”

Xander takes a big swig of beer. “Nope. But we’re not much safer anywhere else, either. Besides, Willow’s helping us out.”

The witch has placed wards on the house. They’re not the strongest, especially since she had to do the mojo from across the continent, but they’ll at least give them some fair warning if the Initiative bastards show up again.

Todd nods. “Has she found any more information yet?”

Xander shakes his head. “They’re not an official government project anymore, so it’s harder to track them down. And we only know the names of Walsh and two of the others. We don’t know how many other people are involved or who they are.”

“So you’re….”

Xander shrugs. “Mostly just waiting for them to make a move.”

The CD ends and Xander gets up to put on a new one. Wonderful. Kenny Chesney. Then he goes and pokes at the fire. When he sits back down, he looks resolute.

“There’s something I wanted to tell you. All of you.”

Spike’s stomach turns over.

“There’s a big envelope in the top drawer of my dresser. It has all my financial stuff. I’ve added Spike’s name—well, William Harris’s, actually—to the deed and my bank accounts.” He turns and looks at Spike. “Dan’s friend got you a social security number, so it’s pretty legal and all. The paperwork for that’s in the envelope, too.”

That doesn’t lessen Spike’s uneasy feeling at all. “Why’d you do that, pet?”

“In case something happens to me, I want to make sure you don’t end up out on the street.”

“I can look after myself. I don’t need—“

“Of course you can, sweetheart. But it makes me feel better to know you won’t have to worry about it, okay?”

Spike looks steadily at his human. “If something happens to you, I won’t worry about anything, because I’ll be dust.”

Xander opens his mouth as if he’s going to argue, then closes it again. He nods. “Anyway, there’s another reason I did it. I want you to really know that this,” he gestures around the room, “it’s yours too. Ours.”

Spike swallows. He feels enough of a ponce already—he’s not going to tear up in front of these people. So he just nods curtly. “Ta, Xan.”

Xander’s eyes look suspiciously watery, but he turns to their friends. “I wanted you two to know about this, too, okay? And there’s a will in there. If Spike and I both die—“

“Already dead, luv.”

Xander shoots him an irritated look. “If we both leave this plane of existence, the house is yours, Todd, and everything else goes to Willow and her kids.”

Todd looks around the room thoughtfully. “Nice place,” he says. “You two might want to watch your backs around me now. I might get ideas.”

Xander and Spike snort in tandem, which makes the other two laugh. “We know all about your _ideas_, Zilla,” Spike says, and knocks the Stadnent’s armies off the board.

By dawn, Xander and Spike are curled together on the couch, slowly snogging, and Todd is in Pan’s lap on a chair, doing the same thing. The fire has died down to just coals and a _Twilight Zone_ marathon is on the telly.

Xander disentangles himself and stands, then grabs Spike’s hand and pulls him up, too. “Gentlemen,” he says. “I’m gonna call it a night. Bed’s all made up for you in the spare room if you want it.”

The demons mumble something and then Xander and Spike stumble off to bed, snickering to each other about the gifts they’ve left their friends in the other room.

Spike’s already tucked in and Xander’s just climbing in with him when they hear footsteps enter the other room. It’s quiet for a moment, and then there’s laughter. A few minutes later, there’s a pounding at their door.

“Yes?” Xander says, trying to sound innocent.

The door flies open and there are Todd and Pan. They’re wearing their pressies: matching studded leather collars and red satin g-strings. Pan is holding the 8 ounce bottle of Gun Oil.

Xander actually giggles and Spike squeezes him fondly. “Bugger off, you two. Some of us are trying to get our beauty sleep.”

Todd strikes a pose. “Some of us are beautiful already.”

Pan raises the bottle. “Think you’re going to get any sleep with us next door, and this?”

Xander pretends to yawn. “Yeah, sleepy now. Night, guys!”

The demons laugh and slam the door. Spike listens to them walk back to their room, then looks thoughtfully at Xander. “Well, pet, long as we’re not going to have a kip anyway, how should we entertain ourselves?”

Xander yawns again. “I dunno. We could…talk about circular saws. I think I need a new one. Lowe’s has one on sale, I think, and—“

Spike growls and pounces.

 

Xander calls Dan on Monday and by Tuesday he’s back to work. He doesn’t need to go—they have plenty of dosh to last for a while—but he needs to get out of the house for a time and accomplish something. For mostly the same reason, every evening after he gets home, he and Spike go wandering, hoping they’ll find an unfriendly demon or two to take on. They’ve found a demon bar off of Belmont Street—a dive called Ricky’s Suds ‘n’ Grub—and it’s usually good for a decent fight or two, at least until the regulars suss out that they are a pair not to be trifled with. They both feel better when they can come back home with bruised fists and sore muscles.

Willow calls often, although she hasn’t made any headway in finding Walsh and crew. The watcher calls sometimes, too, and now Xander’s conversations with him are relaxed and genial. He invites them back to London for his wedding in July.

The nightmares continue for both of them, and Spike expects that their bedroom must sound like a regular asylum sometimes. The only difference is that now, not all of Spike’s bad dreams are flashbacks to his time in Omaha and Sunnydale. Now, sometimes he dreams that he’s lost Xander. Those are the nightmares that leave him trembling the longest and clutching Xander the hardest.

Xander’s begun working on the upstairs. He covered over the windows so that Spike can join him during the day, and Spike often does. He doesn’t actually do much in the way of work—carpentry involves a little too much sharp wood for his comfort and appears not to be something he’s had any experience with in his forgotten past. But he likes to watch Xander and admire his large, clever hands.

Xander has already ripped out the parts of the room that were water damaged. Today he’s framing the walls of what will be the new upstairs toilet. It’s cold out, but Xander’s brought up a space heater, and Spike is sitting cross-legged on the floor next to it, the tool mug in his hands.

Xander is wearing a pair of tight, well-worn jeans and a black sleeveless t-shirt with holes and paint stains. A buff-colored tool belt is slung around his hips. He’s tied his long hair off of his face with a red bandanna. Spike thinks he looks good enough to eat.

“So I was thinking—Shit! That’s not gonna…. Oh, there it goes—I was thinking that we’d stay downstairs and Todd and Pan could be up here.”

Spike takes a sip of warm blood. “Sure, pet.”

“’Cause I’m thinking maybe they might get tired of having the windows blacked out all the time. Doesn’t bother me, but it’s kinda…weird, you know? So they could do whatever they want with the windows up here, and we’ll just keep the covers on the ones downstairs. And—dammit! Can you get that for me?” He’s just dropped his level, and he’s balancing a two by four somewhat precariously, so Spike unfolds and fetches him the tool, then sits back down.

“Plus, if we stay downstairs, we get the big tub.”

“Not going to install one up here?”

“Can’t. It’d be too heavy. I’m just gonna put in a shower stall.”

They’re both silent for a while as Xander hammers a series of boards into place.

“You don’t mind, Spike? Staying where we are?”

Spike leans back against the wall. “Luv, I don’t give a bloody damn where I stay as long as you’re there.”

Xander flashes him a smile. “You just try and get rid of me. Anyway, once I’m done up here, I’m gonna build some light-proof shutters to hang inside the downstairs windows. That way we can open them at night if we like.”

“That’ll be nice, pet.” Spike downs the last of his blood. “Going to get a refill. Want anything?”

“No, I’m good. Actually, I’m gonna take off in a few anyway. I need to go pick up some drywall. Need anything while I’m out?”

Spike thinks for a minute. “No. But how about we go out tonight? Maybe there’s something good playing at the Bagdad.”

Xander stretches and starts to unbuckle his tool belt. “Sounds like a date.”

Spike shoots over to him with vampiric speed and puts his hand on the belt. “Wait a minute, Xan.”

“Yeah?”

“I like the look of this on you.”

Xander grins. “Oh? Does it make me look all manly and butch?”

Spike uses the belt to pull Xander up against himself. “Very.” He presses in for a kiss, and Xander responds by grabbing his arse. “Wonder what you’d look like with this and nothing else on?” he whispers into Xander’s ear.

He can feel Xander hardening against him through the denim of their jeans. He swings his hips forward and Xander groans. “I need to go get that drywall, Spike.”

Spike releases Xander, turns, and carefully places the tool mug against the wall. Then he grabs the belt again in both hands. “It can wait a bit, can’t it?” he purrs.

“How much of a bit?”

Spike leers. “Oh, about this much.” He rubs the heel of one hand against the bulge in Xander’s trousers. When Xander puts up no resistance—and really, he hadn’t expected him to—he tugs the black t-shirt out of the jeans and then up and over Xander’s head. He throws it to the side, then he licks across the man’s slightly sweaty chest.

“Mmm,” he says. “Salty.”

Now he drops to his knees and quickly unlaces Xander’s tan workboots. Xander puts a hand on Spike’s head for balance as Spike pulls the boots off. They join the shirt, and Spike rises back to his feet.

Spike pushes Xander away a little and gives him a long, slow look. Xander’s eyes are dark and one side of his mouth is lifted in a crooked grin.

“That’s nice, pet. But not quite right.”

Spike yanks on the belt again and spends a few pleasant minutes licking and lightly nibbling at Xander’s neck, while Xander pulls weakly at Spike’s shirt. “Hey. Not fair,” he pouts.

But Spike shrugs his hand away. “Ah-ah, Xander. You can admire me any time. It’s my turn now.”

As Xander lets his head loll back, Spike runs his hands under Xander’s waistband and cups his lover’s muscular cheeks. “Should tear these right off you,” he whispers. “Should never let you wear clothes again.”

“Why would you do that, Spike?” Xander moans.

“Evil. Remember?”

“Mmmm. Not evil. Just really, really bad.”

Spike’s cock, already firm and yearning, twitches at that. His jeans are uncomfortably tight now, but he spends some time continuing to massage Xander’s buttocks as they kiss, their tongues dancing in and out of each other’s mouths.

Xander murmurs, “You taste like blood.”

“And you taste like coffee and chocolate. And that horrible fruity toothpaste.”

Xander chuckles. “Who are you calling fruity?”

“Poof.”

“Hmmm.”

“Nancy.”

“Sure.”

“Ponce.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Woofter.”

“How many ways are there of saying gay, Spike?”

Spike unzips Xander’s jeans and pushes them down over his hips. He shoves his briefs down as well. He grabs Xander’s already-wet cock. “The proof is in the pudding, luv.”

“I wasn’t arguing with you,” Xander says against Spike’s cheek. “Just wondering.”

Spike’s getting impatient. He lets go of Xander—making Xander whine in protest—and uses both hands to yank Xander’s clothes down to his feet. Xander steps out of them, and now he’s wearing nothing but the tool belt and a pair of white socks.

Spike steps back and takes another look. “Turn, Xan.”

Slowly, Xander rotates, giving a little shimmy to his hips when his back is turned. When he’s back facing Spike, Spike licks his lips. “Very pretty.”

Spike’s finally got him eating properly—other than the donuts that Xander pretends to sneak, and Spike pretends not to notice—and Xander has resumed his regular runs and workouts at the gym. Not to mention workouts in the bedroom. He’s in top form, now, trim and muscular. He has a few scrapes and bruises from last night’s run in with some T’rithi, but nothing serious. His skin is winter pale, and, just beneath the leather of the belt, his hungry cock juts proudly from his nest of dark hair. The only thing marring his perfection, as far as Spike is concerned, are the dark shadows under his eyes. But maybe they can both forget about their worries for a few minutes, anyway.

“You should work like that all the time, pet.”

“I don’t think this outfit meets OSHA requirements.”

Spike moves in and grabs Xander by the hips. “Don’t know who this Osha wanker is, but it meets _my_ requirements.”

Xander’s arms wrap around him, and now it’s Xander who works his big, calloused hands into Spike’s tight jeans. They tour each others’ mouths in another long, breathless kiss, their groins pressing as tightly together as the denim will allow.

When Xander breaks away a bit to catch his breath, Spike leans in and licks his red and swollen lips. Then he gently but firmly pushes against Xander’s hips, and Xander allows himself to be maneuvered backward until he’s up against a wall. Spike repeats his earlier command: “Turn, Xan,” and Xander does. He rests his palms against the exposed studs and spreads his legs, angling his arse slightly outward. Spike licks his lips again.

He drops to his knees in back of Xander and pries the man’s cheeks apart. He delicately touches just the tip of his tongue to the sensitive skin just behind Xander’s heavy bollocks. Xander jerks a little. “Oh, fuck, Spike.”

Now he presses his tongue every-so-lightly against the dusky pucker, teasing until Xander moans and pushes against him. Then Spike explores Xander’s entry with his entire tongue. Xander moans louder and rocks his hips.

When Xander’s thrusting gets a little desperate, and when his own jeans become too bloody uncomfortable to bear, Spike stands. He leans his chest against the broad, heaving back, and finally relieves a bit of his ache by undoing his flies.

He grinds against Xander’s backside. His cock is eager and wet, but not quite slick enough. So he delves into a pocket and produces a small tube. When he rubs a generous dollop of the slick on and in Xander’s hole, Xander laughs hoarsely and says, “Y’know, someone might think you came up here all planning to seduce me.”

“Told you. Evil. Always hatching evil plans.” And he proves his wickedness by capturing Xander’s hips and quickly sliding his dripping cock into Xander’s tight and ready entry.

Xander hisses. “Jesus!” It sounds more like a prayer than a curse.

And now Spike’s moaning, too, because the heat gripping him feels so bloody good. Feels like he could stay in here forever. But while one part of him wants to just freeze like this and make it last, he can’t stop himself from moving, from pounding into that smooth and welcoming channel.

Xander widens his stance and tilts his backside a little more, and Spike can tell from the steady stream of quiet grunts and garbled blasphemies that he’s hitting Xander’s sweet spot with every hard drive.

Just the scent pouring off of his human is nearly enough to make Spike come, and the soft sounds of slapping flesh, and the feel of the leather belt when it hits against his abdomen. But when Xander lowers one of his hands and grasps his own cock, and starts roughly stroking himself in rhythm with Spike’s movements, Spike loses himself altogether and pistons madly into the gripping warmth. As all his higher thought processes short out, Xander yells “Fuck…fuck…fuck…Spike!” and the muscles around Spike’s cock clench and milk him of his cold seed.

His plunging slows and then halts, and Spike collapses against Xander’s wide back. He pries his hands from Xander’s hips and slowly runs them up and down the man’s heaving chest, waiting for their panting to abate. He licks the back of Xander’s neck and listens to the strong heartbeat decelerate.

Xander turns his head and smiles. “Gah,” he says.

Spike kisses him. “Eloquently put, love.”

 

Spike shouldn’t be concerned when Xander hasn’t returned an hour and a half later. The man has a tendency to get distracted in the aisles of the home improvement store. He usually manages to come home with a new tool. Spike shakes his head fondly. How many tools does a man need?

Still, worry is nagging at the edges of his mind, so he gives Xander’s cell phone a ring. When he ends up with voicemail, he reminds himself that sometimes the reception’s bad inside the cavernous store.

Sixty minutes later, and still no Xander. He’s left a series of increasingly upset messages, but hasn’t received a call back. He paces back and forth like a caged tiger, growling at the sun, which won’t set for another couple of hours, growling at fate for making vampires unable to go out in the day, growling at himself for not protecting his human.

He tries Todd, but no answer there, either. He’s probably at work.

By the time the doorbell rings, a few minutes before sunset, Spike is demon-faced and frantic. He throws the door open with a roar, but it’s Todd, and he’s looking almost as anxious as Spike feels. “Let’s go, Spike.”

Spike leaves a note conspicuously on the refrigerator: “Where the bloody hell have you been? Give Zilla’s phone a ring, you git!” The sun still isn’t completely down when Spike rushes to Todd’s Prius, but he doesn’t even feel the slight sizzling of his skin. He dives into the passenger’s seat.

With no other place to search, they head to Lowe’s. Spike holds Todd’s mobile phone in his hand as they drive, willing for it to ring. But it doesn’t.

They arrive at the store and Todd starts to circle the parking lot. “Oi! Over there!” Spike suddenly cries, and points.

It’s the van.

Todd pulls in a few spots away and they scramble out of the car. Coming from the passenger side, they can see that the van’s empty.

“Want to look inside the store?” Todd asks.

But Spike is circling around the vehicle. What he finds on the ground next to the driver’s door tells him that they can look all night, but it will do them no good. It’s only a few small spots, nearly invisible against the pavement in the dark lot. But Spike can smell it, and it’s a scent he’s intimately familiar with.

Blood.

Xander’s blood.

 

[Chapter 3](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/11819.html#cutid1)

 


	5. 3 New Project

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful (NSFW) art, and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:**| [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 3: New Project**_

**Chapter Title:** 3 New Project   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful (NSFW) art, and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

Today's chapter is short. And, uh...*ducks for cover*....

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)  
---  
He wakes to the scent of blood.

That’s nothing new. Spike often has his breakfast mug in bed. And besides, when the prior evening’s activities have been especially, uh, active, it’s not unusual for some of Xander’s blood to end up on the sheets. He threw out all his old linens and only uses maroon ones now, which works well because they’re using Angel’s blanket as well. And they do a lot of laundry.

Still, something’s not right.

Well, his head is muzzy and it hurts like a sonofabitch. And he feels like he’s going to puke. Maybe he overdid it on the Sam Adams last night. Or did he get conked by something in a fight?

He moans and tries to turn over.

And he can’t.

He can’t move much at all, actually.

With Herculean effort, he pries his eyes open. But everything’s still fuzzy and the room is whirling around.

Okay, the room’s not whirling around, he is.

Or maybe just his head is spinning, like the girl in the _Exorcist_.

He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision.

A blond head is hovering over him, but it’s not Spike’s. He blinks some more, and it takes him a few minutes to recognize the person.

She’s not wearing a white coat, for one thing. No clipboard. And although her face is calm and composed, a look in her eyes brings home a simple truth.

Maggie Walsh is batshit crazy.

She smiles at him—the scariest fucking smile he has ever seen—and he tries to shout and move away. That’s when he realizes several other things. Something big and round and metal is jammed in his mouth and strapped around his head. He remembers the ball gag Spike wore when he first brought him home from the Initiative. He’s not in his bed. Not in his room at all, actually, but rather in a huge room with a high ceiling and dank cement walls. It stinks.

He is tied to something cold and hard. His arms are stretched tightly over his head, the wrists bound together and secured to the surface. His legs are spread and his ankles are restrained as well. Thick plastic rope is digging deeply into his skin.

As he thrashes uselessly, his head grinds against the surface and the pain and dizziness are so intense that his vision grays for a moment. He fights not to vomit, knowing that with his mouth gagged, he’s likely to choke. The blood he smells is his own, and he’s pretty sure it came from his head.

“Did you sleep well, Mr. Harris?” Walsh says, beaming down at him like he’s a favored guest at a bed and breakfast. She looks like Martha Stewart on acid.

He moans again and tries to free himself, but only succeeds in hurting his wrists and making his head swim. He twists his head to the side and sees there are a few more people watching—maybe six or seven—but the rest of the room is in shadows and he can’t make out their faces.

It’s pretty bright where he is because a shop light, almost identical to the one he uses in his garage, is hanging from one of the ceiling beams not far away. It looks like there are other things hanging in the room as well, and some big bulky items on the floor that might be machinery of some kind, but he can’t tell for sure.

He tries to fight off panic and figure out how he got here. Last thing he remembers is…heading out the door to go to the store.

Oh, shit! Spike! Did they get Spike, too? He turns his head frantically from side to side, but there’s no sign of the vampire.

He looks down at himself and realizes that he’s completely naked. He’d also probably be really fucking cold if adrenalin wasn’t flooding him and making his blood rush through his body.

Walsh pats his bare thigh. Her hand is warm and soft.

“I’m so happy to have found you at last,” she says. “Did you enjoy your travels?”

All he can do is stare angrily at her.

She pats him again. “I was initially very put out over your report to General Shales. We’d put so much effort into the project, and then to have the funding withdrawn. It was quite…disappointing.” Her smile doesn’t fade as she says this, but now her hand is squeezing him hard, her long nails digging into his flesh.

“But of course I’d protected some of my resources. And eventually I realized that not having to answer to the government would give us a certain amount of freedom.”

She removes her hand from his leg and strokes lightly down his scar instead. He tries to twist away from her but can’t. “Aren’t you lucky?” she says softly. “You get to be involved in our new project now.”

She moves away slightly and claps her hands. “Boys!” she calls. “Come and take him away. We have some preparation to do.”

Two of the people approach, and as they come into the pool of light, he’s not at all surprised to see that he recognizes them, even though they’re wearing jeans and sweatshirts instead of fatigues. The tall, handsome one has a Beretta in his right hand and some cuffs and chains in his left. The Asian guy is grinning and wielding a big knife.

Greco sticks the gun’s muzzle inches away from Xander’s crotch. “One bad move and you’re a soprano, dude.”

Xander lies very still as Moua cuts the ropes away from his ankles. He’s a little clumsy—Xander can’t tell whether by accident or on purpose—and the knife slices into Xander’s left foot as well. As soon as his legs are free, Moua grabs some of the gear from Greco. He locks a pair of cuffs around Xander’s sore ankles. The cuffs are attached by a short, heavy chain, maybe a foot and a half long.

Now Moua moves around and frees Xander’s wrists. He uses the point of the knife to poke Xander lightly in the bicep. “Sit up.”

Greco steps back a little and Xander is relieved to have the gun farther away, even if it’s still pointed at him. Xander groans as he moves his arms down—they’re stiff from being bound for Christ knows how long. As Moua pokes him again, a little harder this time, he slowly swings his legs sideways, over the edge of the thing he was tied to. Which he now sees is some sort of long metal table.

He uses his arms to push his torso upright. His head roars an objection and he nearly passes out. He begins to lift his hands to his scalp, hoping to assess the damage, but Moua grabs them and twists them behind his back, then locks the wrists in place. A moment later he’s attaching some kind of restraint to Xander’s upper arms so that his elbows are held close together.

As Xander looks around, trying to figure out where the hell he is, Moua slaps a wide metal collar around his neck and then locks it in place. Xander remembers the collar Spike wore for so long and shivers.

Greco shoves his gun into a hip holster and steps in close. He has a leather leash in his hand, which he hooks onto the collar. Then he uses the leash to tug Xander to his feet.

Xander sways and almost falls, but Moua catches him by the arms and holds him steady. Walsh takes a long, assessing look, then says, “Let’s go.”

She walks away, and Greco follows, tugging Xander after him. The chain between his feet forces him to take short, awkward steps. Xander’s feet slap against the cold cement floor, and he peers into the dim depths of the room as they go. It looks like an old factory or something. There are quite a few metal tables like the one he’d been attached to, and chains and large hooks hang from above. There are also some huge, rusty sinks. A few small, grimy windows are set high in the walls. There’s a pair of enormous metal doors at one end of the room, and several smaller doors elsewhere.

His head throbs as Walsh leads them across the room. She pulls out a set of keys and unlocks a door, then they go through it and down a short hallway. The white vinyl floor in here is gray with age and dirt. The overhead lights buzz behind steel cages. They stop in front of another door, and the lock on this one—a heavy deadbolt—looks brand new.

Walsh unlocks and opens the door and Greco drags Xander over until he’s standing in front of it. Inside is a small, filthy bathroom. “This will do for now,” Walsh says. “Soon you won’t need the plumbing.”

As Greco detaches the leash, Moua comes up behind him and unbuckles the gag. Before he can say anything, though, someone shoves him roughly into the room. He stumbles to his knees and the door slams and locks behind him. He manages to get back up to his feet, but he’s still dizzy and he’s afraid he’s going to keel over, so he backs against one of the walls.

The room is only about six feet square, but the ceiling is fairly high, probably twelve feet. At the top of one wall, almost at the ceiling, is a tiny, dirt-streaked window. It’s covered by metal mesh, but enough weak light filters through for him to see around him. The floor and walls are covered in cracked greenish tile. There’s a drain in one corner. To the right of the door is a porcelain sink that has become partially detached from the wall, and next to that is a white, lidless toilet. There’s a rectangular mark on the wall behind the sink where a mirror once hung, but the mirror itself is long gone. The door is gray and featureless. There isn’t even a doorknob.

There’s a single light fixture over the toilet, and a switch by the door, but the bulb is missing.

It’s cold in here, especially with no clothing to shield him from the frigid tile, and it smells of old sewage. He can’t hear anything except his own unsteady breathing and a slow drip of water into the sink. He shouts, but his echoing voice hurts his head, and he has the feeling that there’s nobody to hear him except Walsh and her crew.

As the faucet drips again, it occurs to him that he’s desperately thirsty. He lurches over to the sink and turns his back to it so that he can use one hand to open the faucet. It’s an awkward angle, and the water that comes out is brownish and metallic-smelling, but he leans over anyway and takes several long swallows. Then he sits on the toilet and pisses. When he’s finished he slumps in the corner opposite the door and rests his aching head against one wall.

He doesn’t want to think about what kind of project Walsh is working on right now, or what, exactly, his participation will entail. He pushes her cryptic comment about plumbing away as well. He hopes desperately that his captors still have no idea that Spike exists, and that his vampire is somewhere far away, and safe.

 

Three days pass.

The pounding in his head has gotten no better, and sometimes his vision becomes blurry. When light manages to make it through the little window it hurts his eyes. His ears ring, too. His arms are sore from being bound behind him, and the metal chafes against his wrists, ankles, and neck. He’s tried pounding his shoulders against the door, hopeless as he knows it is, and now his shoulders are bruised. Kicking the door didn’t accomplish anything at all.

He’s hungry. He has all the water he wants, thank goodness, but nobody has brought him anything to eat. He doesn’t know whether his lightheadedness is due to the head injury or his empty stomach.

And he’s cold. He tries to huddle into himself as much as possible, but the position in which he’s bound makes that difficult. He shivers against the cold tiles, thinking about how long Spike had to endure conditions worse than these.

It occurs to him that he could probably find a way to kill himself in here, if he tries hard enough. Drown himself in the sink or the toilet, maybe, or bash his brains out against the wall. Or he could just stop drinking water. But he can’t quite bring himself to do it, not without knowing whether Spike is here as well.

The skies have been cloudy and at night it’s almost completely dark in the little room. In a way he finds that more comforting, because he can better imagine he’s somewhere else. Anywhere else.

He talks to himself a lot. He doesn’t know if anyone’s listening in, so he doesn’t talk about Spike, or Todd and Pan, or Willow and her family, or Giles. Instead, he has long, imaginary conversations with the dead: with Jesse, with Buffy, sometimes even with Angel. He sings his favorite songs, loudly and off-key. He eloquently, and at great length, describes every little thing he’d like to do to Maggie Walsh and all of her acolytes. He curses his parents for raising such an idiot.

 

Shortly before the sun sets on the fourth day, footsteps approach. He backs into the far corner. He can’t put up much of a fight, but maybe he can at least get a good head bash in. He grins a little. Spike calls that a Glasgow kiss.

But when the door crashes open, Moua has a Taser in his hands. Before Xander has a chance to say anything, he’s hit with a blast of pain in the chest, and then he falls to the floor as his muscles stop obeying him.

He’s dazed and only partially conscious as he’s seized under the arms and then dragged out the door, down the hall, and into the huge room. He can put up no resistance at all as the manacles are removed and he’s once again bound face-up to a metal table. This time his arms are held down at his sides, tied to each other under the table.

He moans groggily as Moua removes the collar.

Walsh is standing over him wearing a navy jacket and a pink blouse. Her hair is perfect. She has pearls in her ears. “Well,” she says, smiling at him psychotically, “I think we’re ready for you, Mr. Harris.”

She turns to the shadowy figures several yards away. “Bring it here.”

Two people step forward. One of them is Greco, in jeans and a hunter green sweater. He’s holding a Taser, too. The other is a woman. She’s slightly on the tall side, although much shorter than Greco, and willowy. She’s wearing a long, tattered dress with lacy sleeves. Her arms are clasped behind her back.

Greco pushes her a little farther forward, and then Xander can see her face.

Oh, fuck.

He knows that face.

She looks the same as she did last time he saw her, a decade ago. She’s smiling at him but, as she comes closer, he realizes that her hands are actually chained behind her.

“Hi, Kitten,” she says.

Greco pushes her against the table and she whirls and snarls at him. Then she turns back to Xander. Her face is dirty, he sees, and her long brown hair is tangled.

Walsh is on the opposite side of the table. “See what I did for you, Harris? I saved you something special. I almost had the boys dust it—it’s no good at all for my purposes. Except for one thing.” She smiles at him and Xander looks helplessly back and forth between the two female faces hovering over him. The funny thing is, he prefers the insane vampire to the insane human.

Walsh glares at the brunette. “We’re going to release your hands, now. You know what to do. And you know the consequences if you don’t.”

Drusilla hisses at her. “Nasty woman with your nasty little games. I don’t want to play with you anymore.”

So this is Walsh’s grand plan? To have him be drained by a vamp? He almost laughs because that’s not something he’s afraid of at all. He doesn’t want to die, but there are lots of worse ways to go. And lots of worse things that can happen than death.

He looks at Drusilla. “Go ahead, then,” he tells her. “Bon appétit.”

Greco removes the manacles and Drusilla brings her hands in front of her. She rubs one of them on his chest, then runs one long fingernail up the length of his scar. She bends down close.

“You smell of my Dark Prince. You’ve been very naughty boys. I should be quite cross with you.” She mock pouts. “Grandmum’s gone, and Daddy’s away again.”

Now she leans in close, whispering so quietly that Xander can barely hear. “But now there shall be a brother. He shall be a very bad dog. No purebred, him!” She laughs.

She taps his forehead lightly. “Dark and light, Kitten. Lost and found, put the pieces together again.”

“Get on with it, already!” snaps Walsh.

Drusilla hisses again and vamps out. She cups Xander’s face in one hand. “Do you remember when I offered you eternal life, Kitten?”

Only then does the horror of his situation strike him.

Oh, no. No!

But before Xander can answer, she strikes.

It’s nothing like Spike’s bites. This hurts. And, while Spike only takes a few tablespoons worth, he can feel Drusilla really drawing on his vein, sucking the life out of him in great greedy gulps.

Within less than a minute he starts to feel lightheaded and weak. His vision—and all he sees now is the high, dark ceiling—starts to swim. “Don’t do it,” he croaks weakly. “Don’t turn me. Please don’t turn me.”

But her fangs withdraw from his neck and he dimly sees her tear into her own wrist. She leans down to bite again, and when she presses her wrist against his mouth, he tries to clamp his mouth shut and turn his head. But something compels him to drink. His final thoughts are that Drusilla tastes surprisingly good, and he wishes he’d tasted Spike’s blood. Hopes that Spike is safe. Loves Spike. Spike….

 

[Chapter 4](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/12189.html#cutid1)


	6. 4 Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;   for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;   for for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:**| [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 4: Alone**_  
**Chapter Title:** 4 Alone   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;   for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;   for for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

Another shortish chapter today, as we see what Spike's up to in Xander's absence.

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)  
---  
He kicks at the remains of what used to be a Fyarl demon. He’s hoping the thing will get up and fight some more, just so he has an excuse to tear into it some more, but it doesn’t. It’s dead.

He lifts his head and growls. The dozen or so assorted creatures that have gathered around to watch quickly scuttle away. He reaches for his shot glass and growls again to find it empty. The bartender hurriedly hands over the entire bottle of JD. Spike snatches it and takes it back to his table, letting his features morph back to human as he collapses into his seat.

“Feel better?” Todd asks, then polishes off his own glass of Patrón.

Spike shakes his head. All the bloodshed and alcohol in the world’s not going to diminish the roaring tempest inside him.

For a long time, the two of them are silent. Spike watches the bartender haul away the Fyarl’s carcass. Bloody pillock should have known better than to start something with Spike tonight.

Todd rests his forehead on his hand. “Isn’t there something we can do besides wait, Spike?”

Spike growls once more, not at Todd, but in frustration. He’s already done everything he can think of. Which is bloody well nothing, almost.

They’d prowled around the Lowe’s parking lot for a while, but didn’t find any sign of Xander. No surprise, given that it had probably been hours since he’d been…snatched. Spike refuses to even entertain the possibility that his human is already dead.

They’d gone inside the store and showed around a picture of Xander that was on Todd’s mobile phone, but nobody remembered seeing him today.

So Spike drove the van back home and Todd followed in his Prius. Todd had stood against the wall in the living room and watched Spike demolish a lamp, a chair, and the coffee table. He only stepped in when Spike nearly impaled himself on one of the table legs.

“C’mon,” Todd had said, seizing Spike by the shoulders. “We need to try to find him.”

Spike had calmed enough to talk rationally. They discussed calling the police, but ultimately rejected the idea. Getting police involved in demon-related business was generally a bad idea, and it’s very unlikely they’d be able to help anyway.

Finally, they decided to call Willow. Spike feels bad about this on two counts: it was very late on the East Coast, and it seems like they keep calling the witch in to solve their problems. But he can’t think of a good alternative, and besides, she’d need to know sooner or later that Xander’s gone missing.

Her reaction was pretty much what he’d predicted. She’d cried for a bit, and then pulled herself together and swore to do everything she could. That was a little promising, anyhow. She’s only dabbled in the mojo since she was a girl, but Spike can sense that she has the potential to be a very powerful witch. He’d mentioned this to Xander once, and Xander had dismissed the idea. “Will’s the smartest person I know,” he’d said. “But she’s not some kind of uber-sorceress, Spike.”

Spike didn’t bother arguing about it. He supposed that in some ways, Xander still sees Red as just a grown-up version of the five-year-old he’d played Barbies with. But Spike trusts his nose, and Red smells of strong magics.

In any case, when Willow said she’d try a locating spell, Spike felt a small touch of relief. “It’ll take me a few days, though. I’m sorry, but I need some ingredients and I’m not sure where to find them all because my local shop doesn’t carry griffins’ feathers. Oh, and I’m going to need something personal of Xan’s, something important to him. Can you mail me something?”

Spike thought for a moment about that one. “Will the toybox he made for the kiddies do? It’s not his, really, but he put a lot of time into it.”

“That’s perfect, Spike! But it’s still going to take three or four days. The dried cobra tongues need to steep in virgins’ urine for 48 hours, and—“

“Just ring if you come up with anything, yeah?”

“Sure, Spike. And, and you’ll let me know right away if…if….”

“Yeah, Red.”

Once Willow was on the job, Spike was fresh out of ideas. But he was too restless to simply sit around the house and brood, so he and Todd had headed for Ricky’s.

Now here they sit, and Spike isn’t nearly pissed enough, and he has dried Fyarl mucous on his chest and, most likely, a broken left arm. Not that that matters. He can lift his bottle with the right one.

As he looks at Todd’s stooped figure, though, he has one other idea. “We can call the watcher.”

Todd looks up at this. “Do you think he’ll help?”

Spike shrugs. “Know he’ll try. He’s Xan’s dad, almost.”

They walk back to the yellow bungalow, and it looks forlorn and empty. Like its heart is gone, or its soul.

Spike digs Xander’s address book out of a drawer and looks up the watcher’s number. He calculates the time difference, figures it’s not too early, and dials. It rings only once before it’s answered.

“Giles here.”

“Watcher.”

There’s a moment of silence at the other end. Then, “Spike??”

“Yeah.”

Spike has no idea what to say next. If he says it out loud, that will make it true, won’t it?

“Spike, is there something I can help you with?”

He takes a deep breath. “My boy’s gone missing.”

“What?”

Spike says it again, although he knows the phone lines are perfectly clear. “My boy’s gone missing.”

“Dear lord. What happened?”

Spike explains as succinctly as he can because every word he forces out of his mouth feels like acid.

When he finishes, Giles curses and asks, “And you have no idea where they are?”

“Not a bloody clue, Watcher. Red’s trying to track him, but she says that’ll take some time.” And he leaves the rest of the thought unspoken, but they both know it. Xander may not have any time.

“Right, then. I’ll make some calls, see if I can find out anything. And…I can catch a flight there, probably tomorrow, if you like.”

Spike considers this. He’s not sure how much good it would do to have the watcher here…but it couldn’t hurt, could it? “Okay, yeah. You have the address?”

“Yes. I’ll likely see you tomorrow afternoon, then. Ring if there are any developments, please.”

“Okay.”

After Spike hangs up, he leans wearily against the kitchen counter. Todd is sitting at the table watching him sadly. “He doesn’t know anything either. But he’ll fly in tomorrow.”

Todd nods. The Stadnent looks exhausted. Spike crosses the kitchen. The fridge still has the note he’d written Xander. He rips it off and then shreds it into little pieces, which he throws to the floor. He opens the fridge and pulls out a packet of blood and a carton of eggs. Wordlessly, he hands the carton to Todd, who smiles wanly and shimmers to green. Spike rips the bag open and drinks. Tastes like shite cold, really, but if he looks at their favorite mug he’s going to lose it for sure.

Todd bites and sucks a few of the eggs, then closes the carton. He droops back in his chair, and Spike stares absently at the red spines on his head. Spike puts the eggs away and downs a second bag of blood. He’s not hungry, but now’s not the time to risk being at less than full strength, and he needs his arm to heal as well.

The minutes tick away. Minutes that Xander could be….

Christ! He can’t just sit here like this.

The phone rings and they both jump. Spike lunges for it.

“Yeah?”

“It’s me. No word yet, huh?”

He slumps against the counter again. “Nothing. I called the watcher, though. Says he’ll dig around a bit, come here tomorrow.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea, Spike. I was gonna call him myself, but I thought you might…well, I’m not sure what I thought, but I’m glad you did it.”

“It’s late for you. Get some sleep.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna in a few minutes. Although I really don’t think I’m gonna be able to, you know? But I wanted you to know I tracked down the ingredients I need, and they’re being Fed-Exed here.”

“How long?”

“Three days.”

Nobody knows better than Spike what those fuckers are capable of, and three days might as well be three years. Or three centuries.

But Willow sounds distressed enough already, so he keeps these thoughts to himself. “We’ll talk soon, okay, Red?”

“Okay. Spike…hang in there. We’re going to find him. Everything’s going to be all right.”

“Sure, Red.”

He wishes he could believe her, but he’s certain everything is _not_ going to be all right. He hangs up and curses at himself. He should’ve dusted himself the first day Xander brought him home. Then none of this would have happened, and Xander would be fine.

“Nope.”

Spike looks questioningly at Todd. Todd grins wryly.

“Empath, remember?”

“And?”

“And you’re blaming yourself for this.”

Spike sinks down until he’s sitting on the floor. “If it wasn’t for me, he’d—“

“Probably be dead, or at least wishing he was.”

Spike cocks an eyebrow.

“I saw what he was like before you came into his life. He was…fucked up. Empty, you know? I was hoping to…fill him. But I never could’ve. Not the way you have.”

Spike plays with a frayed spot on his jeans. “He would’ve found somebody else, then. Somebody human. Somebody…better.”

“I doubt it.”

“Well, he bloody well wouldn’t have been kidnapped by those fucks, would he?”

Todd stands up and walks over, then drops down to the floor, cross-legged and facing Spike. “Spike, he’d been at odds with the Initiative for years, and stuck doing the government’s clean-up work. Sooner or later he and Walsh were going to butt heads over something.” He rests his hot, papery hand on top of Spike’s. “I’m glad it was over you.”

Spike looks at Todd. His eyes are lidless in this form. No white shows; just a marbled sandy color with large, vertical pupils. Yet they still manage to look compassionate.

Spike leans his head back against the cabinet and closes his eyes. “Zilla, what am I going to do? I can’t, can’t….” He lets his words trail away hopelessly.

Todd squeezes his hand. “Pan’s down in Sunnydale right now, but I’ll call him in the morning. Not that there’s much he can do right now, but I think he’ll want to be here, you know? And another friend nearby can’t hurt.”

Spike nods a little.

“Is there anyone else you can think of who could help, Spike?”

“There’s General Shales. But I dunno if he can do anything. Might be in on it himself.”

“Yeah, and we can’t let him find out you’re still alive.”

Spike shrugs at that. If giving himself over would save Xander, he’d do it in a second.

Suddenly, Todd hits his hands on the floor. “Anya!”

Spike opens his eyes. “What?”

“Anya. Xander’s ex. You know, the vengeance demon?”

Oh. Yeah. Xander’s talked about her a few times.

“What about her?”

“Do you think maybe she could help? I mean, they broke up years ago, and she’s sorta retired, but maybe it’s worth a shot.”

Spike nods again. He’s willing to try just about anything.

He gets up again and opens Xander’s address book again, unsure what Anya’s last name is. Ah, there she is. Anya Jenkins. Despite the late hour, he punches in her number.

It rings twice and a woman answers. “Hello?”

“Er…I’d like to speak to Anya.”

“This is she. But if this is the caterer calling to cancel, let me remind you that I have paid a large deposit and my husband is an attorney, and—“

“’M not the caterer.”

“Oh. Then who are you?”

“I’m…a friend of Xander Harris.”

“Really? Do you mean friend in the platonic sense, or friend as a euphemism for homosexual lover?”

“Er…the second one.”

“Good. Because I’ve been wanting to know whether his abilities to perform gay sex are as good as his abilities for straight sex. Let me tell you, I’ve had a lot more experience than he has, but when he gets in the sack—“

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Xander had _dated_ this bint? “Maybe some other time, though, yeah? I called because…I was hoping you could help.”

“With the sex?”

“No, the sex is just fine.”

“Oh, then money. My husband and I are rich, you know. He’s a fancy lawyer and I’ve been investing our money in—“

“It’s not money.”

“Then what is it?”

Christ. This isn’t going to get any easier, is it? “Xander’s…missing.”

“Missing?”

“He’s been kidnapped and I was hoping maybe you could help get him back.”

“Do you need ransom money?”

“No, they don’t want a ransom.”

“Then what’s the point of kidnapping him? Because usually, people kidnap others so they can make a large profit. But Xander doesn’t have much money anyway, so why would someone want him?”

Spike is grinding his teeth, but he forces himself to continue to the conversation. “Do you know about the Initiative?”

There’s a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the connection. “Has Xander got himself in trouble with them?”

“Yeah, he has.”

“How?”

“He sort of…stole me from them. I was one of their…projects.”

There’s a brief pause, and then her voice becomes sharp. “What are you?”

“Vampire.”

“With a soul? Like Angel?”

He still shudders every time he hears that name. “No soul.”

“Then why—“

“Look, luv, it’s a long story. Can you help me find Xander? Those people who took him….” He can’t say any more. Can’t have any more of this discussion, really.

“All right, vampire. I’ll see if I can find anything out. Where can I reach you?”

“At Xander’s house.”

“You _live_ together?”

He sighs. “Yeah, we do.”

“I never thought Xander was going to commit to someone. What’s your name?”

“Spike.”

“William the Bloody Spike?”

Lovely. “Have we met? Because I have…memory problems.”

“No, but I’ve heard of you. We have an acquaintance in common.”

Oh. Well, he supposes that it’s not that far-fetched that vampires and vengeance demons might run with the same crowds. “Look, Anya, can you just—“

“See what I can find out. Yeah, yeah. I’ll give you a call.”

He hangs up. Funny, he hadn’t realized vampires could get tension headaches.

“Spike, you mind if I sleep here?”

“’Course not, Zilla.”

They wander out of the kitchen. Todd gives Spike a hug when they reach the bedroom, then he continues on to the guest room. Spike lies down in bed, but he knows he won’t sleep. He pulls the covers up over himself, enveloping himself in the scent of his human.

 

Todd knocks on his door the next morning.

“Come in.”

Spike’s sitting on the bed, his knees tucked under his chin and his arms wrapped around his shins. He’s staring at the dresser, at the picture of him and Xander. He’s been looking at it all night. Even with the lights off, his eyes are sharp enough to make out the details.

“I’m supposed to go to work. You want me to call in sick?”

“Nah. Go…go ahead. You’ll keep your phone handy?”

“Of course. I’ll come by after, all right?”

“Okay.”

“You need me to pick up anything for you? You’re okay on blood?”

“I’m good, Zilla. Ta.”

Todd waves. A few moments later, Spike hears the front door open and close.

After a while, Spike gets out of bed. He showers. He wanders from room to room in the small house, feeling trapped inside by the sun, knowing he’d have nowhere to go even if it were dark. He drinks some more blood. He picks up a book, stares blankly at the same page for half an hour, puts it down. He wishes he had a job to go to, something to take his mind off things.

Bloody hell. He’s going to have to call Xander’s boss, too, won’t he?

He goes back to wandering, and on one of his circuits of the bedroom, he spies his journal on the nightstand. He carries it into the kitchen and spends a long time with it. He doodles a few small sketches of Xander. He’s not any good at it, but somehow putting him on paper makes Xander seem…there. Still alive. Last night was one of the very few nights he hasn’t written—in fact, this is the third blank book Xander has bought him—and so now he writes yesterday’s events in great detail. He’s not sure why it’s easier to write it than to say it, but it is. And he tells himself that if—when! Dammit!—Xander gets back home, he can read this, and know what happened.

When he’s finished writing, he calls Dan. The two of them have never met, but Spike knows Xander has talked about him a bit. Hasn’t said he’s a vampire, of course. Just that he’s his boyfriend.

Spike isn’t sure what to tell the man. He could lie, make up some story about a family emergency or some such. But even though he’s supposed to be evil, lying doesn’t come easily to him, and he ends up telling the truth. “Xander’s been kidnapped.”

To his surprise, Dan responds, “Government?” And then Spike remembers that Xander’s boss has a thing about government conspiracies.

“Erm, sort of. Former government group, more like.”

Dan lowers his voice to a whisper. “Look, I know people who…know people. Know what I mean?”

Not really. But Spike just says, “Yeah.”

“If you tell me who they are, I’ll see if I can find anything out.”

Spike thinks about this. What the hell…why not? Not like that bunch of nutters can do any harm at this point. “They’re called the Initiative. Were most recently based in Omaha, but now….”

“I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. And you need anything, you let me know, okay? Xander’s like family to me.”

“Thanks, mate.”

Eventually, Spike goes upstairs and he sits on the floor again, remembering how Xander had looked as he worked. He doesn’t switch on the space heater. It wouldn’t warm him today anyway. He just shivers and stares at the half-finished wall until he hears a car pull up and then someone is ringing the doorbell.

It’s the watcher. And Spike is startled but not displeased when the man gives him a hug. Spike formally invites him in. They have to do that with everyone now, not just vampires. It’s the wards the witch has put up.

Giles is wearing khaki trousers, a gray jumper, and a brown leather coat. He’s unshaven and looks ten years older then he had just a few short weeks ago. He’s carrying a black duffle bag.

Spike puts up a kettle and then gives Giles a brief tour of the house. When the water’s hot, he pours them each a cup of Darjeeling. They go into the living room and sit, Giles on the remaining chair and Spike on the couch. Giles eyes the destroyed furnishings and Spike feels a little sheepish.

“So, I take there have been no developments?”

Takes a sip of the tea. He finds it relaxes him, sometimes. “No. The witch says she’ll have the spell ready in three days. Well, two now, I expect.”

Giles nods.

“Zilla’s asking around the local demon community, in case they’ve heard anything.”

“Zilla?”

“Todd. Xander’s—_our_ Stadnent friend.”

“Oh, yes. I believe Xander told me about him.”

“He’s got a half-breed Brachen boyfriend who’s in Sunnydale. Pan. Zilla says Pan’ll come up, but he probably won’t be more than…moral support. And last night I rang Xander’s old demon girl, thought maybe she could help.”

“Demon girl…Oh! Anya?”

“Yeah.”

“I hadn’t realized they were still in touch.”

“She sends Christmas cards.”

“I see.”

“So I spoke with her, and she said she’d see if there was anything she can do.”

“She’s an interesting girl, isn’t she?”

Spike raises his eyebrows. “He dated her?”

“For several months. I believe she broke it off when he enlisted.”

They both sip their tea for a while. Spike brings in the pot and pours them more.

“Spike, I’ve called around to some of my friends, inside the Council and without. There may be some useful information they can find, perhaps some contacts within what remains of the Initiative.”

Spike is nodding when the doorbell rings. It’s Todd. He’s changed since the morning—must have run by his flat before work—and now he’s wearing a pair of blue jeans and a red shirt with the top three buttons undone. He smells strongly of coffee and cinnamon.

Spike introduces Todd and Giles and they sit awkwardly as Spike clears the debris off to the side of the room. Spike offers Todd a beer, and is just about to sit beside him when the door rings again.

This time it’s Pan, who wraps Spike in a large embrace. “Hey,” he says softly. “I flew up as soon as Todd called.”

More introductions, more tea and beer. They begin to strategize. Todd and Pan will explore their demon connections, both here and in Sunnydale. Maybe somebody’s heard something. Maybe the dregs of the Initiative have been snatching more creatures somewhere. Maybe…who knows. It’s something to do, anyway.

They all think it’s unlikely that Xander’s been taken to the Initiative’s old bases, either in Sunnydale or Omaha. But Todd and Pan will go back to California and check there anyway, since Todd knows where the entrance to the old compound is. Giles knows some people who patrol the other Hellmouth in Cleveland, and he thinks they’d be willing to make the trip to Nebraska.

The watcher is going to continue to question his sources as well. It occurs to him that the kidnappers may need to buy supplies somewhere, so perhaps they might contact military surplus vendors. He’ll mention that to Willow when she calls next.

Spike has no sources to call, no computers or texts to consult. So he will simply…sit. And wait.

He looks around the room at the earnest faces and he’s touched that these people are willing to drop everything to come to Xander’s aid. And it’s not just these three. Elsewhere in Portland, Dan is emailing and calling his friends. Down in LA, Anya’s doing some investigating. And in Boston, Willow is frantically searching computer databases and dusty old books.

But he knows it’s all for naught. He’s not going to be able to save Xander. Even if they find him, it’ll be too late. It’s already too late.

 

[Chapter 5a](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/12508.html#cutid1)


	7. 5a Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 5a: Demon**_  
**Chapter Title:** 5a Demon   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

Well, it's tomorrow for most of you, so I'm going to post the next chapter now. I really like this chapter, and I hope you do, too. If you've been reading and not commenting, I'd love to hear from you. And thanks to all of you who have been leaving feedback!

**Another two-parter today!**

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)  
---  
  
_I’m starving_, he thinks sleepily. _Could eat a horse. Could…sink my teeth into that broad, muscular neck and feel the gallons of hot blood pump into me and feel the horse’s heart start to falter and_….

He opens his eyes.

And Xander Harris screams.

It’s the nightmare again. The fucking nightmare.

Only.

Only he really is ravenous.

And it’s not pizza and donuts he’s craving.

And it’s pitch black and he can’t move and he can’t breathe and he can feel the earth pressing around him, crowding into his mouth and eyes and ears, and he can smell it, too, the scent of rot and moisture and clay and pine needles and the tiny little creatures that burrow into the ground and he is so fucking hungry so hungry and he can’t think.

Fueled by starvation and panic and instinct, his hands claw at the surface above him, digging frantically. Despite his condition he feels strong, stronger than he’s ever been, and inch by laborious inch he drags himself upward, toward the surface.

Toward food.

It hurts and his muscles ache and his empty stomach screams and screams and demands sustenance and his teeth hurt and his face. But eventually, eons later, one hand breaks through. Cool air brushes his torn fingers. Desperately, he grasps at the soil and heaves himself through.

Now his head and both arms are free. Now his chest. Another quick scrabble and he is crouched on all fours. Above the ground.

His head is hanging as his lungs fill with oxygen and empty again. Fill and empty.

He hears the wind and small crunching sounds and little rustlings that he knows are made by the animals that creep around on the ground and he hears a chorus of pounding and swishing that calls to him like a siren’s song.

And the scents. The odor of trees and rocks and metal and grass and oil and shit and fur and cotton and leather and….And food.

He leaps to his feet.

He’s cold. His bare skin is cold and the air is cold and the dirt that clings to his body is cold and his heart is…cold.

It’s dark out, the heavy clouds hiding the stars, and the moon shining through as a mere smudge of light. But it doesn’t matter. He can see. He can see as well as if he were standing in a well-lit room.

There’s a forest nearby, and a dark, looming building, and the distant shapes of parked cars and trucks and a series of what looks like animal pens.

But none of that matters.

All the matters is what he sees in front of him, surrounding him, actually, in a ring maybe twenty feet away.

Food.

Quicker than he can think it, he surges forward. And there it is in his arms, squirming and struggling wonderfully, and he roars and sinks his teeth in. Oh, motherfuck. It’s better than he’s dreamed of. Better than he could ever dream of. Hot and salty and sweet and rushing into his mouth and down his throat.

Before he’s had enough—could he ever have enough of this ambrosia?—the struggles have stopped and he’s almost dropped it. Because there was more food here, wasn’t there?

But then something hits his back and it stings and then everything is black.

 

He wakes up in a rage.

He’s still fucking hungry. And cold. He’s not buried this time, but he still can’t move much.

He snaps his eyes open. There’s food, right there. He launches himself forward, but is brought up short by the chains.

The food laughs.

His hands are shackled and pulled above his head. He looks up, and he can see that the chains are suspended from heavy beams in the ceiling. His legs are spread and chained to large metal hooks set into the floor. He struggles, wrenches against the fetters with all his might. He goddamn feels like he could rip apart a tank with his bare hands, but he can’t budge the metal that holds him.

He’s naked and filthy.

Just a few feet a way, tantalizingly almost within reach, is food. Humans. But wait, fuck, isn’t he—

Food. Half a dozen of them. One of them steps just a little bit closer. He can smell it. Smell _her_. She smells good. Like…the orange trees that used to bloom in Willow’s back yard; and the vanilla Joyce Summers used when she baked them cookies; and spices, like Todd when he gets off of work; and—oh God, what’s happened to him?—and like flesh and blood and warmth and life and _food_.

When he focuses on her face, though, he roars and lunges against the chains. It’s her. The one who…hurt him. Hurt his…Spike. She’s the one who hurt _Spike_!

He snarls and snaps his teeth and pulls so hard against the manacles that his wrists and ankles have deep, bloody gouges.

She just watches. Waits for him to still. Smiles icily at him.

“Are you with us, Subject One?”

Subject—What the fuck?

“Are you capable of understanding on what I’m saying?”

Understanding? He wants to rip her throat out with his fangs (wait! fangs?!?), dig his hands into her stomach and pull out her entrails and strew them around the room. Wipe that smug fucking look off her face forever.

Another steps forward. Tall human. Christ, he wants to sink his teeth into him, too.

“I never expected it to turn out so savage, Professor Walsh.”

“You’ve never seen one when it’s new before, Greco. They’re nothing but ravening beasts then. It won’t become remotely trainable until it has fed.”

“It has fed! It fucking drained Moua.”

A deep thrill of satisfaction runs through him at those words.

“Yes, well a new vampire needs more than that at first. It could probably finish off another two or three people.”

That sounds like a good idea to him.

“Professor, are you sure—“

“Yes, I am sure, Sergeant. We’re going to feed it and let it settle a bit, and then we can begin.” He doesn’t process any of this except “feed it.” Yes. Feed. He can feel the saliva pooling in his mouth.

The human—Walsh. Her name is Walsh—turns her back to him. “Hicks, bring him over,” she says.

Two humans shuffle towards him. He recognizes the one who’s slightly behind, shoving the other in front of him. He was another of the ones who hurt his Spike. He doesn’t know the other man. He’s plump, with a rat’s nest of black hair, and he reeks of fear.

Xander—yes, that’s his name, isn’t it? Alexander Harris—inhales deeply. Strings of drool have overrun his pointed teeth and now run down his chin.

Hicks prods the other man closer, and now Xander can see that the chubby human’s hands are tied behind him. He’s dirty and his clothes are disheveled, and there’s a large scrape on the side of his terrified face. When he sees the blood, Xander tries again to break free. The sudden scent of urine assaults his nostrils, and now the food—the man—has a large wet spot on the front of his pants.

The man starts to cry. “No, no, please, Professor Walsh. Don’t do this! Just let me go! I won’t say a word to anyone, I promise! I’ll do whatever you want. Please!”

Walsh looks at him dispassionately. “I’m afraid the opportunity for cooperation has come and gone, Criswell. I was so disappointed when you decided to leave us. At least this way, you’ll still be making a small contribution to the project. Hicks?”

When she finishes, Hicks grabs Criswell’s arms and pushes him nearly against Xander. Criswell shrieks, but Xander barely notices as he lowers his head and strikes, feeling the soft flesh give beneath his fangs.

Criswell writhes in the other man’s grip and his cries become strangled moans as Xander takes deep, heady swallows of his blood. Oh, holy fuck, it’s so good. Feels so good as it runs down his throat and settles in his angry belly. Feels like sex, like power, like life.

The writhing has become aimless twitching and the flow of blood into his mouth has become more sluggish. He hears the man’s heartbeats slow. He wishes he could get his hands free so he could claw into the food, could tear off great, quivering chunks of warm meat and devour them, too.

He’s still hungry.

Just as the man’s heart stutters to a halt, Xander gives a mighty heave on the chains holding his arms—and they give. Hicks tries to stumble away but gets tangled in the body he’s been supporting.

Xander grabs him.

Xander’s feet are still attached to the floor and the three of them tumble down. Xander pins the frantically squirming and squealing Hicks underneath him and shoves the empty body aside. He rips a huge hunk from Hicks’s neck. The man’s noises abruptly change to choking gargles, blood fountains everywhere, and Xander buries his face in the glorious feast and feeds.

Hicks is already dead by the time the pain and blackness come again.

 

He’s bound more securely when he wakes up this time. He’s back in the same position, arms stretched overhead and legs wide, but the chains are much heavier now. He’s also wearing a collar that digs into his skin. It’s tethered tightly with another thick chain to one of the room’s broad support pillars.

The hunger has faded to a distant throbbing.

He’s still cold and naked. When he looks down, he can see that his torso is covered in dried blood. He can feel more of it flaking off his cheeks and chin. He shudders with an exquisite combination of yearning and revulsion.

He shakes his head, trying to clear it.

Walsh is standing in front of him, frowning. He grins because he’s managed to get that awful smile off her face. Greco is standing next to her, Taser in hand, and he’s glaring at Xander with a look of murderous rage. Xander winks at him and licks his lips.

Walsh puts out a hand to stop Greco, who’s raised the weapon and is lurching forward. “Control yourself!” she snaps.

“Control myself? Look what that fucking monster did!” He gestures angrily off to the side, where two bodies lie in a heap.

“That’s what they _do_, Greco. It’s good to have the reminder. Hicks was careless. _You_ were careless when you secured it. Now you’ll know better.”

Greco growls and steps back, dropping the hand with the Taser back to his side.

Walsh takes a deep breath and narrows her eyes at Xander. She removes a small plastic box from her jacket pocket, and for the first time since he dug himself out, a twinge of fear shivers through Xander.

But they haven’t had a chance to put a chip in his skull yet, have they?

The thought of the chip carries with it a flood of associations, all involving Spike, and he looks madly around him. No sign of Spike. He prays that means that they haven’t caught him. Then he thinks that prayer is absurd now. He’s never done it before, and it’s certainly not going to do him any good now, now that he’s—

Not going there right now.

Walsh waves the box at him. “I’m sure you recall the control devices we were using previously, One. Unfortunately, given our somewhat reduced circumstances,”—she waves around her as she says this—“we don’t have the ability right now to install a similar device in you right now. We’re going to have to suffice with something a bit more primitive.”

She pushes the button on the control box and Xander howls as a powerful jolt of electricity punches through him from the collar around his neck. Walsh turns the box over in her hand thoughtfully. “But I think this will work for now.”

The fucking smile is back. “Now,” she says. “I think you’re ready to listen, aren’t you?”

He glares at her.

“You are going to be the centerpiece of our new project, which is why I have decided to start our numbering from the beginning again. Because all of what we did before doesn’t really matter know, does it? You made sure of that, with your report.” The smile slips a little and there is whirling madness in her eyes. She puts the box back in her pocket and claps her hands together once. “So. We have new goals. New project, new goals.”

His only goal right now is to obliterate this bitch.

“Are you ready to hear about it?” she asks.

“I’m ready to gorge on your innards, you crazy cunt.” The words hiss and rasp as he speaks through his unfamiliar mouth.

She looks at him steadily for a moment. “All right, then. When I return later I expect you to better appreciate your situation, _vampire_.”

She spins and marches off, followed closely by Greco and her small crowd of followers. One of them pulls open one of the huge double doors, and he instinctively hisses and flinches as a beam of light crosses the room, falling just short of where he hangs.

The door slams shut and heavy locks are turned. A couple of engines turn over and tires crunch away on gravel. There are still people moving around outside, though, boots stomping back and forth across concrete.

He shakes his head again, trying to draw some sense out of the kaleidoscope of thoughts and emotions that is whirling around in his brain.

He is….

He is Xander Harris.

He is Spike’s beloved.

He is…a vampire.

 

Hours later.

He’s still standing in his chains, shivering uselessly in the chill of the room. Footsteps continue to pace outside the doors, and sometimes there is quiet conversation. Sometimes about nothing in particular. Sometimes about him.

“Did you see how fast it moved when it—“

“Yeah, I saw. I’d like to feed it its own dead heart.”

“Walsh will skin you alive if you touch her precious—“

“I know. I know, okay? Just…wishing. Should’ve just let him stay dead when we had a chance.”

He stops listening. They’re not telling him anything he doesn’t already know.

His arms are sore from being stretched upwards for so long, but his head feels better. The wound that was there before, the concussion that he probably had, both seem to have cleared up when he…turned.

Experimentally, he wills the bones in his face to shift, and they do. He runs his tongue over his teeth. Dull. Dull, uninteresting Xander teeth. Dull senses, too.

Now he wills another shift, and hears the bones crunch. It doesn’t hurt, though. It feels kind of good, actually, a little like popping a stiff joint. He again tongues his teeth, and this time he cuts himself on razor-sharp fangs. He sucks a little at the wound. Hmm. Even his own blood tastes delicious. His senses have improved, too—he can see clearly in the dim, cavernous room, can hear the soft patter of raindrops outside, can smell the mingled odors of old and new death.

But it’s harder to think clearly this way. His emotions are stronger but his mind seems…fuzzier. He shifts back.

There’s no getting around it. He’s finally joined the ranks of the undead.

Honestly, he’s not that surprised. Given his history, his activities, and his choice of bed partners, it wasn’t exactly unpredictable, was it? He probably wouldn’t have anticipated this particular route, with Walsh and Drusilla and all, but still. Not a big shock.

What does surprise him is that he doesn’t feel all that different, really. Well, there’s the craving for blood part. But he still feels mostly like himself. Like he could put in a good day’s work making a bookshelf or framing a room, then relax in front _Battlestar Galactica_ with a Pyramid Ale. And Spike. Spike cuddled up next to him, making snarky comments, maybe, or reading a book.

He closes his eyes, pushes that image away. That’s never going to happen again.

Now that his initial hunger has eased, he doesn’t want to eat anyone. Not that he wouldn’t rip Walsh and company to tiny little shreds, given half a chance. But he felt that way long before. Really, since the first moment he saw Spike dragged into that room in Omaha.

He gazes at the bodies on the floor. He doesn’t feel any remorse about killing them, or the other man, the one he’d fed on when he first…rose. He’s glad they’re dead, glad it was at his hands. Teeth. Whatever. But he’s felt this way before, too, when he drove the knife into Riley Finn’s chest and walked away from Turner.

He knows most new vamps kill their families, if they can, and he thinks about killing his. His real family—Spike and Willow and Todd and Giles. The concept fills him with horror. Even Tony and Jessica, cruel as they may have been. Nope. No particular desire to commit patricide.

Maybe it would be different if his appetite was back in full force again.

Maybe.

But he’s pretty sure that if he could get free right now, he’d massacre these bastards, then go home and double Spike’s usual order of bloodbank rejects. And lead a life not so different than he had before, only with less of a suntan.

He knows what he is now. He knows there’s a demon inside him. He can feel it prowling around in his cranium, getting cozy and used to its new accommodations. He can feel its anger at being restrained and its desire to exact vengeance, but those feelings are pretty much the same as those the old Xander would have had. Does have.

The demon feels…sort of comfortable. Like a friend.

He snorts at himself. Why should that surprise him either? Of course the demon feels familiar—look at the company he keeps.

And something else. It kind of feels…feels like the demon’s not alone in there.

 

It’s much later when the doors open again. The next day, maybe. He’s been trying very hard not to think about what Walsh has planned for him, or where Spike is.

A new idea occurs to him, though. If they didn’t catch Spike already, then he must surely be looking for Xander. _Please_, he finds himself praying again. _Let me stay lost. Let Spike never come anywhere close to here_.

But now Maggie Walsh is marching toward him, and he notices with some satisfaction that the ranks of her minions are somewhat depleted. Good. Every one of them he can obliterate is a benefit to the world.

She stops in front of him, her face calm and composed. She’s wearing her navy coat again, and her turquoise blouse looks freshly pressed. She has the remote control to the shock collar in her right hand.

“Ready to listen, One?”

Sure. Might as well find out what’s in store for him. He nods.

“You have a very special purpose. _You_ are going to sire my army.”

Oh, Jesus H. Christ.

Her eyes sparkle. “I used to think we needed to rid the world of demon infestation. I could have done it, too, if my projects had been properly funded. But now—thanks to you, Subject One—I have seen my mistake. It’s not the demons who infest this world. It’s the humans.”

Motherfuck. She is farther off the deep end than he’d thought.

She’s pacing back and forth now, speaking loudly. Lecturing. As if this was UC Sunnydale and he was her student. Though he doubts any of her students attended class naked, chained, and covered in gore. Or maybe they did. It _was_ Sunnydale.

“The beauty of vampires is that it takes only one. Just one can sire two, and they can sire two more, and so on. In nineteen generations, you have a million. In thirty generations, you have two billion.”

“So, you’re planning a vampire pyramid scheme?”

She stops and punches at the controller in her hand and pain lances through him. “Enough insolence!”

Jesus, she speaks like a comic book villain.

She returns to her pacing. “The problem is that until now, it’s happened with no organization. Which is natural, given that vampires are impulsive and instinct-driven creatures incapable of rational formulation of plans.”

Maybe she’s got a point. Most of the vamps he’s met weren’t real big on the thinking. Some were, though. Angelus. The Master. Spike. And he feels as capable of good thinking as he’s ever been. Maybe it’s not his strongpoint—he’s not Willow or Giles—but he could figure things out if he tried.

“What if only the very strongest human specimens were infected with vampirism? Fighters. Soldiers. Like you.”

“I haven’t been a soldier for years.”

“But you’re still a fighter, aren’t you? Still battling demons of all shapes and sizes? Quite successfully, I understand.”

She moves very close to him, just out of reach of his snapping jaws, should he decide to go for her. “If you could do so much damage with a frail, human body, imagine what you can do now, with the strength and invulnerability of a vampire?”

“Eat you for lunch?”

She zaps him again. He knew she would, but he couldn’t stop himself. His demon appears to have a very smart mouth. He vamps out, and when the pain recedes, he snarls at her.

“You psycho old bat. You couldn’t control one little vampire. What makes you think you could control an army of them?”

She reaches for the box again.

“Go ahead, shock me. It’s not going to make your plan any saner.”

She does shock him, and then she stares at him furiously. “I _can_ control vampires. I _will_ control vampires. And I will start with you!” She’s nearly screaming as she says this. Making her loose her cool is almost as satisfying as ripping into her throat. Almost.

Now she makes a visible effort to calm herself. “However glib you may think yourself, One, you are still an animal. And all animals are governed by two simple things: punishment and reward. And for vampires, the factors are especially plain: Food. Pain. Sex. And with respect to you, all of those are within my purview. As you shall see.”

With a final glare, she stomps away, her groupies again trotting after her.

Alone in the room, he stretches a little, trying to relieve the ache in his shoulders and wrists. It doesn’t help.

He mulls over what she said. Sure, she can control whether he eats or hurts or fucks. But is that really all that motivates a vampire? He’s pretty certain there’s more. Like…love.

He remembers Spike in the bathtub in the Sunnydale Holiday Inn Express, starving and scared and maimed. Even fearing that Xander had turned him over to those assholes. Still, when Xander opened his vein for Spike, the vampire pushed his wrist away long before he had drained him. Because Spike loved him.

Xander supposes he’s probably as weak a vampire as he was a man. He’s not as brave as Spike, probably not as steadfast. Still, he knows to a certainty that there is nothing she can do to him that will make him hurt or betray those he loves.

 

[Chapter 5b](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/12612.html#cutid1)

 


	8. 5b Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 5b: Demon**_  
**Chapter Title:** 5b Demon   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

Well, it's tomorrow for most of you, so I'm going to post the next chapter now. I really like this chapter, and I hope you do, too. If you've been reading and not commenting, I'd love to hear from you. And thanks to all of you who have been leaving feedback!

**Another two-parter today!**

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)  
---  
  
 

The corpses are starting to stink. This is a good thing, because the stench is overpowering the scent of blood, and his stomach is again very empty.

Maybe he stinks, too. He’s not sure. After all, he’s dead also. And still covered in dirt from his own grave as well as the remains of his…snacks. What did Spike call them, all those years ago when he was talking to Buffy? Happy Meals with legs. None of his meals had seemed very happy, at the time anyway.

Neither is he. Or the demon. Or…hmmm.

He decides to focus on the plus sides of being Deadboy. No more having to piss or shit or shave. He’s suffered through his last summer cold. He’s never going to get gray hair or wrinkles or grow hair in his ears. If he could get free, he and Spike could have some truly marathon sex sessions. Not come up for air for days, because hey! No more breathing.

The sunshine aversion isn’t a problem because he’s probably never going to get out of this damn building.

The cold bothers him a lot. Now he understands why Spike was always so eager to huddle up close and steal some of his body heat. It’s not just a chill on your skin like a living person gets; this is a frigidity that extends to his very core. It’s part of the lure of blood, he realizes now. It’s not only the flavor or the energy it gives or the way it fills his belly, but it’s the way it warms him.

Spike told him once that a single mouthful of Xander’s blood was like swallowing a swarm of sparks, and those sparks would travel throughout his body and heat him for hours. He’d thought Spike was just being poetic. He wasn’t.

Thinking of Spike drinking his blood makes him really think of Spike drinking his blood, and him drinking Spike’s at the same time. Holy shit. It felt so good to have the exchange of body fluids going just one way. What would it feel like to feed and be fed on at the same time? And if fangs weren’t the only thing he had buried in his lover, or buried in himself?

His cock begins to thicken and grow stiff, and he laughs. Here he is, turned into a vampire, hanging in chains, and waiting for some unspecified form of torture, and he has a hard-on. And there isn’t a goddamn thing he can do about it, either.

 

If he wanted to, he could keep track of the time by watching the light come and go from the tiny windows set up high in the wall. He doesn’t bother. It doesn’t matter when it is. And when the doors crash open, it doesn’t matter how long he’s been here.

He’s getting very hungry.

Walsh is looking chipper today. She’s traded in her pearl earrings for diamonds. Could be cubic zirconia, he supposes, but he guesses that she’s more of a diamond kind of gal. She has a new haircut, too.

They stare at each other for several minutes.

She looks him up and down with an air of disgust. Doesn’t bother him. Whatever he is right now is what she’s made him.

“For your own sake, I hope you learn obedience quickly, One.”

“I’m a slow learner. Barely graduated high school.”

She waves the remote at him like it’s the golden fucking ticket. “Pain is an excellent motivating tool.”

He chortles at that, even though he knows he’ll get shocked for it. “Tell that to Anthony Harris.”

She zaps him, of course, and he yells, but he’s not really thinking about her or the collar. He’s remembering his father looking over his report card, a scowl deeply etching his face, and reaching to unbuckle his belt.

“You stupid little shit!” he’d shout, spittle flying out of his mouth. If Xander was lucky, and Tony got to the report card early in the evening, he wouldn’t be slurring his words too much. If Xander was unlucky, he’d be nearly unintelligible. “What kind of retard are you? Who gets a D in fourth grade math?”

Well, he did. Because it’s hard to concentrate on what the teacher’s saying when your tummy’s empty because mom was too stoned this morning to make you breakfast, and there’s no food in the house anyway. And when you can’t sit comfortably in your seat because your bottom’s sore after the beating you got last night, when you tripped on the edge of the rug and spilled the beer you were fetching for your dad. And when your mind keeps leaping off the tracks and replaying your parents’ bedtime words to you: “Can’t you do anything right?” “Get out of my sight, brat.” “I wish you’d never been born.” Yeah, he did.

Tony Harris was a virtuoso at wielding a belt. Other than drinking, it was probably his true calling in life. And, oddly enough, the drunker he was, the better his accuracy and the stronger his arm.

The collar fucking hurts. But not as much as that strip of leather did when it fell on his nine-year-old body.

Walsh looks supremely frustrated for a moment. Yay. Another victory for him. Then she gets a calculating look in her eyes.

“All right, One. Clearly I’m going to have to arrange something stronger than this. But in the meantime, aren’t you hungry?”

He nods. Of course he is. But she already knows that.

“I will let you feed. Human blood, fresh from the vein.”

He licks his lips. He can’t help it. “But?”

“But you have to do as you’re told.”

“I’m not real good at that.” Again, Tony Harris could’ve told her so. Zap.

“If you want to eat, you will obey.”

He sighs. He’s getting tired of this conversation. “What do you want me to do?”

She turns away for a moment and grabs one of her people by the arm. Greco. She pulls him toward Xander.

Greco has an odd look on his face, something like a true believer who’s about to be baptized in a burning cauldron.

Walsh and Greco are standing close again, close enough that the man’s acrid smell of fear fills his nostrils. He likes that smell.

“I want you to infect him. He will become Subject Two.”

Greco swallows audibly, but doesn’t back away. Shit. He’s drunk the Kool-Aid.

“I’ll be happy to sink my teeth into him, but I won’t turn him. I’ll just leave him permanently dead.”

She shakes her head. “No. You won’t feed unless you infect him.”

“Then I won’t feed.”

She laughs, a discordant, disturbing sound like pottery breaking. “You’ll be saying otherwise soon.”

She starts to move away, and Greco grabs her arm. Despite the chill of the room, there’s an unhealthy-looking sheen of sweat over his handsome face. “Professor! Can’t we just get this over with? You could make it do it!”

“It _will_ do it.”

“Yes, but now? Can’t you…force-feed it my blood or something? Stick a tube down its throat and—“

“No. It will obey of its own accord.” And turns away.

That’s when Xander fully realizes that this is about more than building her crazy vampire army. This is about proving her techniques work. Proving it to the man—or at least, what used to be the man—who got her project nixed. It doesn’t make any sense, but, then, she’s nuts.

Fine, then.

He’s not afraid of her.

She’s already murdered him. He doesn’t care if she dusts him and he can deal with pain.

General Shales and Rupert Giles have both called Xander Harris the most stubborn person they ever met. Spike might have mentioned it once or twice, too. Mixing in a demon isn’t going to make him any more easy-going.

He watches her retreat back to the doors, back to whatever rock she crawls under when she’s not torturing vampires. “Make me,” he says.

 

He doesn’t really feel his arms any more, and the smell of the rotting bodies bothers the humans a lot more than it bothers him. The only thing he’s really feeling right now is hunger.

He had no idea how bad it could be.

It’s not just the growing weakness in his body, or the way his skin is contracting and fissuring across his wasted muscles and jutting bones. It’s not even the empty pit of his stomach, which feels like it’s trying to consume itself. The worst of it is in his head, where a red fog is slowly thickening, obscuring thought and feeling and everything except the need for blood.

He might have given in by now.

Every so often Walsh and her entourage show up, and Walsh makes her sacrificial offering, and Xander refuses. And then they go away.

One night he’s awakened from his stupor by some sort of commotion, but his senses don’t seem to be working very well and he can’t tell what’s happening. Doesn’t matter anyway.

And each time Walsh comes it gets harder and harder. He can’t speak at all any more. He just turns his head away and closes his eyes. Last time she took out a knife and sliced Greco’s palm, made sure he could see and smell the rich red fluid that ran out and then fell, wasted, to the dirty floor.

He’d nearly blacked out.

But he still hadn’t acquiesced.

Because what Walsh doesn’t know is that there’s a tiny little place where the red fog can’t reach. It’s yellow. Yellow like the color of his house. And warm—the only warmth left in him. And in it is a precious kernel of truth: Spike is still free.

 

It’s a dream. Or maybe a vision.

He’s in a room.

When he was a kid, he used to fantasize that Tony and Jessica weren’t his real parents, that there’d been some sort of terrible mix-up at the hospital when he was born and he was sent home with the wrong people. And some day, his _real_ mother and father were going to realize the mistake, and they were going to come get him. They would love him very much, of course, and they would be rich. They’d take him to their mansion, where they’d have a bedroom all ready for him. It would be huge, with bunkbeds and his own television and refrigerator and every toy imaginable.

This room looks a little like that.

It’s big, though it’s hard to say exactly how big, because the walls are sort of shadowy and amorphous. It’s bright and cheery, and scattered with all sorts of interesting things, including the biggest tv he has ever seen.

There are four occupants of the room besides him.

One of them is a spotted dog. A strange-looking dog. It moves a little and he gets a better view of it. Oh. Not a dog. Hyena.

It’s skinny and weak-looking, and curled up on a large green dog bed. It’s watching him with glittering black eyes. A small pile of heavily-gnawed bones is beside it. It twitches an ear and whines at him, but doesn’t get up.

The second occupant is crouched near the hyena. It’s a demon. Its naked skin is a mottled green color, it has spines across its face, and there are heavy claws on its hands. Its ears are large and pointed. It’s skeletally thin, and it’s gazing sadly at him through blood-red pupils.

The third occupant of the room is sitting on a comfortable-looking couch, an empty bowl in his lap. He looks almost human—but not quite. When he smiles at Xander, his teeth are pointed. He’s wearing clothes: worn jeans covered by leather chaps, a plain white t-shirt, and a black motorcycle jacket. Two holsters are criss-crossed on his chest, and he has a machete in one hand. His skin is red like a human with a very bad sunburn, his hair is black and thick and long, and the entire visible part of his eye is cobalt blue. He has a piercing in one eyebrow and a long, thin tattoo on one cheek, in exactly the same position where Xander has his scar. He’s much too thin, too.

The fourth occupant is at the other end of the couch. He’s dressed in ripped and bloody fatigues. His face is unsettling—there’s something there, but try as he might, Xander can’t quite get it in focus. He just sees a shifting grayish area. But he gets the impression that the soldier has an expression of quiet rage. He’s holding a pistol in his lap.

“Hi, Xander,” says the red demon, his voice deep and gravely. He pats the couch next to him. “Have a seat. Make yourself at home.” And he laughs heartily.

Sit between to the weapon-toting biker demon and the weird soldier guy? Sure, why not?

He plants himself in the middle of the couch. He looks down at himself and sees he looks the same here as he does in reality: naked, filthy, and emaciated. He’s wearing manacles on his wrists and ankles. He touches his neck and confirms that the collar is there, too.

The biker demon gestures to the empty bowl. “Sorry I can’t offer you anything, man. Cupboard is bare.”

Xander shrugs.

He sees a movement out of the corner of his eye. The hyena has stood and is now walking slowly to him on wobbly legs. It sniffs briefly at him then curls itself at his feet like a dog. Without planning to, he leans down and pets it. Its fur is surprisingly soft.

Now the spiny demon is crawling to him as well. It’s a little more hesitant than the hyena, but eventually it shoves the hyena slightly over and crouches against Xander’s knees, its arm draped lightly across his lower thighs.

This is cozy.

Nobody says anything, and so finally Xander does. “So, umm…what’s up?”

The biker demon raises its eyebrows. “You tell us, man. Screen’s fucked up.” He points at a giant tv that stands near one end of the room. The picture is filled with static and keeps blinking in and out. He can just barely make out what it is, but after squinting at it a while, he realizes it’s the room where he’s been chained by Walsh.

“Uh, who are you?”

Now the demon laughs again. “Don’t you recognize us, bro? We’ve known you forever. Except for the green dude. He just showed up a little while ago.”

“Sorry. I’m not even sure what kind of demons you are.”

“I’m a Chimera,” he replies, puffing out his chest a little. “We’re really rare, you know. Mythical, almost.”

“Oh. And him?” Xander points at the demon at his feet.

“Oh, you oughtta recognize _him,_ man! He’s a vampire.”

“That’s not a vampire. Vamps look like humans, only paler. Except when they’re bumpy and fangy, with the yellow eyes. _I’m_ a vampire.”

The Chimera rolls his eyes and points. “That’s the demon within, Xan. The essence of a vampire. The rest…the rest is all human shit.”

“Uh-huh. And where is this?”

The Chimera claps him on the leg, making him jump a little. “In your head, of course. Where we always are.”

“Ooookay. So we’ve got a vampire thing, a hyena, and a soldier. I get it. I’ve been possessed by all of them at one time or another. My body’s like a fucking demonic Motel 6. And now I’m hallucinating them all. But who the hell are you?”

“You ever heard of a fetus in fetu, Xan?”

“A what?”

“Fetus in fetu. It’s when one twin gets absorbed by the other during pregnancy. It lives completely inside the other twin, and most of the time nobody even knows it’s there. Cool, huh?”

“Uh, sure.”

“I’m like a fetus in fetu. That’s how Chimeras reproduce. We implant a—I dunno, sort of a seed, I guess—in a female, and whenever she gets knocked up, the seed sorta grows inside whatever kind of baby is there.”

Xander just gawps at him.

“I was lucky I got stuck in a human. Well, you know demons. I coulda ended up somewhere way worse.”

Xander says nothing for a minute, trying to make sense of this. He frowns. “So you got…implanted…in….”

“Jessica Harris. Before she was pregnant with you.”

“So that means….”

“Mom was a ho? Yep.”

“I mean—“

“Jesus, Xander, get a clue! I’m in _you_. Always have been, since before you were born.”

Just fucking wonderful. Now he’s not only dead, captured, and vampired, he’s nuts, too. But he decides to humor the Chimera. Or himself. Whatever.

“Why haven’t I known about you, then?” he asks.

“Because you were really fucking dense, bro. How else do you think you managed to survive those miserable excuses for parents _and_ the Hellmouth? Why else do you think every demon you’ve met wants to jump your bones? It’s part of how we do our thing—we make our hosts really attractive so that everything within miles is anxious to get busy with them. It’s the circle of life, man.” He laughs again, loudly and roughly.

Xander rubs his face. “You’re the demon magnet.”

The demon smiles proudly. “Yep.” But then he scowls a little. “You kinda fucked things up for me by turning out to be queer, you know. I can’t reproduce if you only do the nasty with guys.”

“Um, sorry.”

The Chimera smiles and claps him on the shoulder. “Nah, that’s okay. Didn’t want rugrats anyway. Besides, I like Spike. And you’ve made up for it by giving me this nice, cozy home.” He gestures at the room.

“I have?”

“Sure. You know, usually if the host is weak the Chimera just sorta takes over. Or they fight with each other and drive each other nuts. End up serial killers or something. Or if the host is really strong, like you, it just locks the Chimera up and doesn’t let him out. Like Angel did to Angelus, you dig? And that’s a drag.”

“I didn’t do any of those things?” He can’t believe he’s having this conversation. But, then, he doesn’t really have anything better to do right now, does he?

“Nope.” The demon grins at him, his pointed teeth sparkling white. “You built this place in your head, and I moved in. Nice pad. You got the big old tv, a couple of gaming systems—I kick ass at Grand Theft Auto--, good beer, decent grub. And you don’t seem to mind if I hang here.”

Xander looks at him. He has no idea how to respond. But the Chimera continues. “So when the hyena and GI Joe here showed up, they just came on in. And that was no prob. I don’t mind a coupla roomies.”

“So you just…stick around in my brain and play video games?”

“That’d get wicked boring after a while. Sometimes you let us out, let us get in some licks, you know? Have a little throw down. It’s cool.”

“What about him?” Xander points at the vampire, who is silently tonguing some of the dried blood off of his shins.

“I guess he liked the digs, too.”

Xander shakes his head. “That’s not how vamps work. They don’t share.” He jumps a little when the vampire gets to a particularly ticklish spot.

“Yeah, not usually. But the three of us saved your ass. We like it here and we didn’t want some new guy trying to take over. So when that Drusilla bitch bit into you—and by the way, she is really hot, my man—we hung onto you. Didn’t let you go.”

“Didn’t let _what_ go?”

“You!” The Chimera pokes him hard in the arm. “Your essence, you know? Your soul.”

Xander blinks at him. He stands up, hops awkwardly over the hyena and vampire, and turns around to stare at the others. “I have my soul?”

The Chimera rolls its eyes again. “No shit, Sherlock. You got your soul, the whole deal. Now you just got another extra demon in you. And he came with some boss options, didn’t he? Like superstrength and immortality.” He gives a thumb’s-up, then shrugs. “We can deal with the sunlight thing. No big.”

Xander realizes he’s pacing, walking back and forth on what appears to be a really thick, soft carpet. But he doesn’t stop. “Vampires aren’t supposed to have souls.”

“Yeah? So why aren’t you giving in to that cunt and turning Greco into another bloodsucker?”

“’Cause—then she’ll win.”

“Let’s face it, dude. She’s gonna find some way of making more vamps anyway. It ain’t that hard.”

Xander stands and crosses his arms. “She won’t do it with me. At least, not by my choice.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to be the one to help her try and take over the fucking world, okay?”

The Chimera lifts an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t a soulless creature jump at the chance? Face it, bro. You care. You still got a soul.”

“But I fucking ate three people already!”

The demon laughs. “Yeah, I know. It was great. But one, that was while we were still getting things straightened out with the new roomie, dig?” He frowns a little at the green demon, who manages to look sheepish. “Two, just because someone’s got a soul doesn’t mean he won’t kill, you know? Plenty of guys with souls murder. Bitch who offed you has one, doesn’t she?”

Xander nods. Yeah, he supposes Walsh does have some shriveled up excuse for one.

“And three, those motherfuckers really asked for it. After what they did to Spike, and then to you? World’s better off without that scum.”

Xander feels dizzy and sinks down onto the floor. He rests his head in his hands. The hyena crawls over and ends up halfway in his lap. He pets it absentmindedly. “Okay, great, I have a soul,” he says softly. “That’s just—dandy. Can it unlock chains? ‘Cause I’m still hanging here, you know?”

“That’s why we called you here, Xan. You got to make a choice.”

Xander laughs bitterly. “I’m all out of choices, pal.”

The Chimera jumps up and looks at him angrily. “There are always choices. Always.”

“Like what?”

“You can stay here with us.”

“Stay….Like, what? Locked up in my own head?”

“Sure. We’ll just turn off the tv there and the world will go away. At least until the bitch dusts us. Or worse.”

Xander isn’t sure what the demon means by that, but in any case this option feels wrong. Cowardly. The hyena whines and licks at his face. It doesn’t like that choice either.

“Okay, what else?”

“You can give in to her.”

Xander shakes his head. “Nope. Not gonna happen.”

The Chimera grins wickedly. “Good. That’s what I like to hear.”

Xander lifts his hands in exasperation. “Then what the hell do I do?”

Now the Chimera steps over and kneels in front of him. He places his hand on Xander’s shoulder. “You go back out there and keep on fighting, bro.”

Keep on fighting, huh? A hopeless war, one he’s sure to lose. He closes his eyes and sits for a minute, stroking the hyena’s thick fur. Then he sighs and opens his lids.

“Okay. What do I do now, click my heels three times?”

The Chimera throws back his head and roars. The others join him—the hyena and the green demon howl, and the soldier lets out a thundering series of whoops. It’s a battle cry, and Xander scrambles to his feet and screams right along with them.

The room starts to fade, but before it’s gone, he hears the Chimera say, “We’re right here when you need us, Xan. Just gotta open the door.”

 

[Chapter 6](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/12821.html#cutid1)

 

 


	9. 6 Fatal Bellman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;   for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;   for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 6: Fatal Bellman**_  
**Chapter Title:** 6 Fatal Bellman   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;   for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;   for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

I'm up, and it's almost tomorrow, so here we go. This is a busy chapter. And, well, don't hate me. Remember, we still have 12 chapters to go after this!

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)  
---  
  
It’s nice to have…friends…here when he needs them.

Willow calls every day, pretending to give updates on the locator spell, but mostly giving him moral support. Todd and Pan are over a lot, sitting companionably with him on the couch and joining him in staring blankly at the telly.

And the watcher. That one’s a surprise. They don’t have much in common, except for the accent, a willingness to watch footy, and, surprisingly, similar tastes in music. But they still get on together. Giles keeps his nose buried in books, but periodically gets up to make another pot of tea. Sometimes he even brings Spike a mug of hot blood, too.

The locator spell takes a few extra days because one of the ingredients—pickled purple ghoulbane or something—turns out to have gone bad. The witch has to dig up some more. Spike’s nerves are jittery, he’s taken to biting his nails, and he’s punched a hole in the bedroom wall, right next to the hole Xander put there when Spike was snatched.

He wants to scream.

Sometimes, he does.

Finally, nearly a week after Xander disappeared, the phone rings.

“Yeah?” he demands.

“Hi, Spike.” Fuck. It’s Red, and he can tell by the quaver in her voice that it’s not good news.

He wants to growl, but reminds himself not to take it out on her. She’s nearly as torn up about this as he is.

“What’s up?” he asks softly.

“I, uh, did the spell.”

“And?” Christ, if she wasn’t 3000 miles away he’d likely be shaking her by now. “And?!”

She takes a deep breath. “I can’t find him.”

“You can’t—Bloody hell, woman, do it again!”

“I did it three times, Spike. And, and I had another Wiccan cast it, too, just in case. She’s really good…she can fly and turn invisible and make things explode, like last month when she blew up an old barn. But she, she couldn’t find him either.”

Spike’s legs give out and he collapses to his knees on the kitchen floor. “Something’s wrong with the mojo, then,” he whispers.

“There are only two reasons why this spell wouldn’t work.” He’s heard her use this exact tone of voice on the twins when they’re on the edge of a tantrum. “A really powerful black arts practitioner could block it, could sort of camouflage him. But Walsh doesn’t really do magic, does she?”

“And the other reason?” Now his voice is just a shallow sigh.

“Uh…it won’t work if, if the person you’re looking for is…dead.”

He says nothing.

After a while, the watcher, who must have come into the room some time during the conversation, gently takes the receiver from Spike’s lax hand. There’s a quiet murmur of his voice as he speaks with Willow, but Spike doesn’t process his words. Doesn’t really matter what he’s saying, does it? Spike’s already heard the important bit.

 

“Spike, you have to accept that Xander is probably…gone.”

No. He doesn’t have to accept anything. He crosses his arms and glares at the watcher.

“Todd has given me to understand that Xander made arrangements in case of this eventuality. Financial arrangements. Correct?”

He turns away and starts to stalk over to the couch, but Todd and Pan are there, gazing at him soberly. So he spins on his heel and leans against the edge of the fireplace instead, staring intently at a tiny spot on the wall. His insides are in jagged pieces. He feels like a drowning man being carried out to sea.

“Spike….”

He whirls around. “Just bloody shut it! I don’t fucking care about financial arrangements. You’re all ready to throw in the towel, just because the witch says…the witch says—“ Unable to complete the sentence, he growls and stomps away. He finds himself in a corner now, with nowhere to go.

Without turning and looking at the others, he says “If you won’t—can’t find Xander, at least, at least find Maggie fucking Walsh. Even if Xan….” He struggles to get himself under control. “Let me at least get the bastards who took him, yeah?”

Someone is standing up close behind him, resting a warm hand on his shoulder. Coffee and cinnamon and paper. Todd. “Spike, Willow can’t use the spell for Walsh because we don’t have any of her personal possessions, you know?”

Spike nods. He did know this. Then he has a sudden idea. He spins around. “Sunnydale.”

“No, Spike, Pan and I checked there already, remember?” Todd shudders. “Turner and Finn were there with the other filth, dead and rotted, but no sign of Walsh.” Spike can tell the Stadnent is trying to be patient.

“Know that, Zilla. She’s not there. But maybe…maybe she left something of hers behind. There was all sorts of shite there, some of it must have been hers. Maybe we can find something to send to Red.”

Todd blinks at him a moment and then looks at Giles, who has a thoughtful expression on his face. “Yes…yes, I believe the spell will work even with objects that haven’t been touched in some time. So long as she handled them frequently in the past.” He nods at Spike.

“Fine, then,” Spike says. “I’ll leave tonight.”

He’ll dig up something and post it to Red, and Red will find Walsh and the others for him. He’ll rip them apart.

He’ll rip them apart and then he’ll go and watch the sunrise.

 

They head south minutes after dark. Spike is driving the van. Todd insisted on going, partly to because he knows where the entrance to the compound is, partly because he wants to be there when Spike has to re-enter one of his private hells.

Giles accompanies them. He’s probably the best one to actually find a likely object among all the filthy debris.

Pan stays back in the yellow bungalow. Somebody needs to be there to act as a switchboard, in the unlikely event that there are new developments elsewhere.

The drive is long and tense. Spike flagrantly disobeys speed limits. When flashing red and blue lights appear behind them somewhere north of Redding, Spike clenches his jaw and thrusts his fake drivers license at the CHP officer. He bites his tongue as the officer peers suspiciously inside the van and then gives him a lecture on safe driving. He refrains from growling when the man hands him back his license and a ticket and tells him to have a nice day.

Just before orange begins to tint the sky, Spike pulls over at a Burger King in Modesto. He climbs into the back of the van and rips open a couple of bags of blood, choking the cold fluid down perfunctorily while Todd and the watcher use the toilet and buy themselves some breakfast. They come back out to the van with Giles muttering something dark about bloody Americans and their crap fast food breakfasts. Todd takes the wheel and they get back on the road.

It’s barely noon when they pull into Sunnydale, the fucking sun high and bright in the sky. Todd has parked as close as he can get to the entrance to the old base, but it’s still much too far for Spike to make it without incinerating.

Todd and Giles offer to go in without him, but he refuses. What if there’s something nasty down there, waiting for them? He knows Todd can fight, but still. He’s already responsible for Xander’s…disappearance. He won’t have his friends getting hurt on his account.

Besides, he wants—no, _needs_—to see the place himself. Now that he’s free, and unchipped. And whole. Apart from the bloody great crater in his middle where Xander belongs.

So Giles gets in the driver’s seat and he pilots the van towards downtown. He pulls up in front of a shop called the Magic Cabinet. While Spike sulks angrily in the dark, Giles and Todd go inside. They come back ages later, their arms loaded with stuffed shopping bags. “I thought it might be prudent to stock up while we’re here,” Giles says. “Just in case. They still have an excellent book stock.”

Next they drive a few blocks to The Espresso Pump, a café. Giles and Todd leave him in the van again while they go inside for some tea and coffee and something to eat. Spike is beginning to feel like a bloody dog left in the car while its owners run errands. Maybe next time he should remind them to leave the window rolled down a bit.

With sunset still over an hour away when they return, Spike has a request. “Watcher, could you take us by the house where he grew up?” He’s not even sure why he wants to see it. Maybe a glimpse at a place where Xander spent so much time, even if it most of it was pretty miserable, will make him feel a little less lost.

Giles pulls up in front of a nondescript little tract house. Spike peers at it from the gloom of the back of the van. The yard is bare and weedy and one of the front windows is cracked. A rusty Ford is parked crookedly in the driveway, and Spike wonders if that means the parents are home. He considers chancing the remaining light to try to find out, but of course he wouldn’t even be able to enter the house without an invitation. He scowls and sits back down on the air mattress.

Then he thinks of one other stop they could make. “Think we could go by Angel’s place? Xander said it’s empty.”

Giles turns and looks at him. “Certainly.”

The odd-looking, blocky mansion squats on top of a hill. Todd tells them of the side door he and Xander had entered through, and Giles is able to maneuver the van quite close. Spike throws a blanket over his head—not Angel’s; that one’s at home on his and Xander’s bed—and darts out of the vehicle. He’s only smoldering a little when he gets to the door.

The interior is mostly bare and dusty stone. He inhales deeply, and—there. Just a hint of it, but the scent is there. The scent of 4315. Angel. Xander said that Spike himself had lived here for a time, too. Not surprisingly, it doesn’t look familiar.

He wanders around. Wonders at the chains and shackles set into brackets in one wall. He spies a book lying in a corner of the room and picks it up. _Nausea_. He sniffs it. It was Angel’s book. He slips the book into a jacket pocket and continues to poke around.

In one room he finds the broken-open chest where Xander and Todd had scavenged weapons. He peers inside. There’s not much left, but a knife catches his eye, and he pockets that as well. A small box in the corner of the same room contains a few broken dolls, some old-fashioned jewelry, a pair of lace gloves. He holds one of the gloves to his face and realizes that the scent must be Drusilla’s. His sire. It’s not familiar, and yet a shiver runs down his spine. He places the glove back in the box.

Another small room contains a busted-up wheelchair. He runs a hand over the metal frame, then kneels down and nearly touches his nose to the leather seat. It smells like him. He looks at it for a long time, wondering what he did when he was in this chair. What he thought. What he felt. What would Spike then think of Spike now if they were to meet?

In what must have been the master bedroom there’s a massive bed with an ornate gothic frame. There are chains there, too. He lifts his eyebrows at that, but then lies down on the bed, ignoring the dust and breathing in the thick smell of Angel that still emanates from the blood-red sheets.

It’s nearly dark. He walks back outside, the deep shadows making the sheltering blanket unnecessary. Todd and the watcher are waiting silently for him in the van. Giles starts the engine and they drive back to the edge of the university campus.

After they park, Todd leads them through the scraggly woods to a large boulder. He gestures at the ground between the rock and a large bush, and there is a round metal door.

Spike opens it and drops down inside, followed by his companions.

As soon as the smell of the place assaults his nostrils, he freezes. It’s not that it’s foul, although it most certainly is. It’s the rush of memories that are instantly stirred to life. Memories of crawling through muck, blind and deaf and starving and maimed, a heavy hand yanking impatiently at the chain attached to the ring in his cock. Memories of being raped and tortured. And, most of all, memories of thinking he’d lost Xander forever.

Todd lays a hand on his shoulder. “Come here,” he says quietly. “I want to show you something.”

Wordlessly, they follow him. Giles gags a little and pulls out a handkerchief, which he holds in front of his nose. The place is as bad as Spike remembers, with broken bits of glass and metal scattered amongst bones and fur and scales and other, less identifiable matter.

Todd leads them down a smaller side corridor and then stops. He points at a corpse lying on its back on the floor.

Spike steps closer.

It was probably once human. It’s wearing the remains of a pair of jeans and a black jumper. A large knife with a thick black handle juts from its exposed rib cage. Spike looks at its face.

Very little flesh remains on the face, and that is desiccated and peeling. The skull’s eye sockets are empty. Flawless white teeth grin from a lipless mouth. The hair on the scalp is still largely intact. It’s straight, light brown, short on the sides and a little long on top.

Spike doesn’t have to sniff the cadaver to know who it is. He gazes at the knife, imagining Xander thrusting it home, picturing the look of pain and fury that must have been on Finn’s face as he died.

Spike draws his foot back and kicks savagely at the head, grunting with satisfaction as his Doc breaks the skull into shards. He stomps on them with his heel, reducing them to not much more than dust. Then he walks back to the others.

They’re both watching calmly. “Let’s move on,” he tells them.

They wind their way through the moldering hallways. Todd stops outside one of the few intact doors. “Spike, do you want to see what’s in here?”

Spike nods, and Todd pulls a ring of keys out of his pocket. He unlocks and opens the door.

Spike takes a deep, steadying breath as he looks into the tiny room. It’s the room where he spent so many hours bound on his knees. Now another corpse is there, held in place by a network of heavy chains.

Because the room is so cold and had remained closed, this body is considerably less decomposed than the other, and Spike has no problem recognizing Turner’s ugly face. It’s frozen forever in a look of horror, and Spike thinks about the man, locked inside in the pitch dark, slowly dying from dehydration. He smiles, probably for the first time since Xander’s gone.

He slams the door shut. “Thanks for the reunion tour, Zilla. Let’s find that bitch’s shite and get the hell out of here.”

After wandering around a little, they come to the exam room where Turner and Finn had sewn his eyes shut, but there’s nothing in there that seems likely to have belonged to Walsh. Just a few doors down, though, is a cramped office filled with tumbled piles of paper and manila folders. Books have been pulled from the bookcase and torn apart.

While Giles sorts through some of the debris, Spike walks over to the desk. More papers are here. A broken computer. A clipboard. He shudders when he sees that. But there’s also a fountain pen. It’s uncapped, as if its owner was interrupted in the midst of writing something. It’s black with a gold nib and clip. He squints at it. Montblanc. Feeling a bit like one of the blokes on that detective show he sometimes watches on the telly—only with a better sense of smell—he leans over and takes a whiff. It’s very faint, but there. The scent of Maggie Walsh.

“I found it,” he says. Todd and the watcher look at him as he pinches the pen between his finger and thumb, picking it up gingerly, as if it might bite. He puts it in one of his jacket pockets, and the other two nod at him.

Giles clears his throat. “I’d like to poke around here a bit more, if we may. Perhaps we can find some indication of where she is now.”

They rustle through the office for another hour or so, but find nothing of interest except for some scribbled notes on the procedures planned for Hostile 17. Spike glances quickly at them and then tears them to shreds.

Giles says that perhaps there might be some more useful papers in Omaha. He’ll ask his Cleveland associates to look.

There are still several hours of darkness left when they emerge into the woods, and Spike takes the first shift driving home. He hasn’t slept in…he’s not sure how long, but he’s not really tired, at least beyond the general exhaustion he’s been feeling since Xander failed to return from the store. “I’ll drive when the sun’s up,” Todd says, and sprawls across the air mattress. Soon Giles is snoring softly in the passenger seat.

Spike watches the miles fly by under his wheels, thinking about how Xander rescued him twice, and he didn’t even manage to return the favor once. Wondering where his human is now. _Let him at least be at rest_, he thinks. _Let him be at peace_.

 

It’s early evening when they arrive back home and all three of them are done in. They drop Todd back at his place. They’d called ahead to say they were almost there, so Pan is there to meet him, along with Fiona. Spike and the girl have met a couple times before, but both times she seemed too much in awe at meeting a flesh and blood vampire to say much to him. She mostly just goggled. Now she waves and helps Pan lead the weary Stadnent into his home.

When they get to the yellow bungalow, the watcher mumbles a “Good night” and stumbles off to the spare room. Spike heats up a mug of blood, downs it in a few gulps, and then strips and crawls into bed.

He tosses and turns for a while, then he has a thought. He gets up and pulls the book he’d found out of his jacket pocket. He takes it back to the bed with him and starts to flip through it.

It’s in French.

Much to his surprise, he’s not a bad turn with the language. But he reads through a few pages and decides this shite’s not right for someone in his state. He tosses the book aside and tries to get some shut-eye.

Half an hour later and he still can’t get comfortable, still can’t shut off the horror movie in his head. He flings himself off the bed and stomps into the bathroom. He can at least wash the stink of the Initiative off himself.

As he waits for the water to warm, he looks around the cheery room. He remembers the first shower he’d had here, when he hadn’t even known how to work the tap or bathe himself, and wouldn’t have dared to try. The hot water had felt exquisite, but even better had been Xander’s caring words and gentle hands, the first kindness he had known.

He steps into the tub and the spray washes over him, sluicing away the film of corruption from Sunnydale. He reaches for the soap, thinking how wonderful it had smelled to him when Xan first brought him here, and how its vanilla scent is a subtle part of the mixture that’s pure Xander: coffee and wood and beer and chocolate and pizza and clean sweat.

As he rubs his chest, he thinks of Xander’s big, rough hands. His cock starts to harden and he curses the faithless thing, the way it hungers for pleasure no matter Spike’s suffering, or Xander’s. Still, his hand drops lower and he grasps the firm flesh, imagining it’s not his hand at all. Xander had caressed him like this, back when Spike couldn’t do it himself because of the sensors. Xander had stood beside the tub, ignoring his own arousal even after the towel had fallen from around his hips, and had actually _asked_ Spike if he wanted it, asked instead of ordering.

Spike drops the soap and cradles his bollocks with his right hand. His left is curled into a fist and it still rubs his rigid shaft, his motions now faster. His hips are rolling as well and the water is falling across his closed eyelids.

Xander’s hands had felt so bloody good and he hadn’t cared that Spike had had to use the man’s shoulder to support himself, that he’d dug his fingers in hard enough to make the chip flash him a warning. Now, there’s no pain, no physical pain anyway, but he pulls on the silver ring, recalling the heady mix of pain and pleasure he’d felt as Xander touched him.

And after Spike had come—the first time he’d been allowed to come purely for his own enjoyment, and not for the amusement of others—Spike had stepped out of the shower and taken Xander into his mouth. It was the first time he’d touched Xander. And although he’d had plenty of cocks shoved down his throat, this was the first time he’d done this because he chose to, because he wanted to. The look of ecstasy on the man’s face, the taste of him on Spike’s tongue.

Spike’s skin has become warm from the shower and from friction, and now his left hand moves rapidly while his right gently squeezes and pulls. Later that night, Spike had overheard Xander tell Willow that he’d dust Spike before returning him to the Initiative. The relief at hearing that had been enormous, but even more overwhelming had been his realization that someone—this man—actually cared about him.

And now, standing in the shower, alone, Spike feels his orgasm shudder through his bollocks and his cock and his spine and his head, and he cries out, and who’s there to tell whether the water running down his face is salty and bitter?

He dries himself off and shuffles to bed.

He’s barely asleep when the phone rings.

He considers ignoring it. But what if it’s somebody with important news? He fumbles his way out of the covers and pads into the kitchen.

“’llo?” he mutters.

“Uh, Spike?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s Dan.” His bleary mind draws a blank for a moment and then it comes to him. Oh, yeah. Xan’s boss.

“Hi, Dan.”

“Hey, man, I talked to my friends like I told you I would.”

The black helicopters lot. “Thanks, mate.”

“This one guy—he runs this organic co-op down near Eugene, but he’s got some good connections—he says he heard some guys talking.”

Suddenly, Spike feels wide awake. “Yeah?”

“They heard that a small group of government types have leased this old slaughterhouse off Highway 20 in Sweet Home.”

“Sweet Home?”

“Yeah, it’s a little place in Linn County. I had a pal who worked at a sawmill there, before it shut down back in the 80’s.”

“Oh.”

“So these guys said this group of suits and uniforms leased the old slaughterhouse, and they’ve been pretty cagey about what they’re up to. My friend thinks maybe they want to do some research on growth hormones for cattle, but I think that’s bullshit because everyone knows it’s the big pharmaceutical corporations that are doing that. No need for them to be covert, you know, man?”

“Er, sure.”

“Anyway, they’re up to something sneaky. I don’t know if it has anything to do with Xan, but I thought maybe, like, you’d want to check it out.”

“Thanks, mate. I appreciate it.”

“Sure, sure. And if I hear anything else, I’ll let you know, okay?”

“Thanks.”

After he hangs up, Spike remains leaning against the kitchen counter. He’s naked and it’s cold, but that’s not a bother right now. He’s mulling over his options.

Finally he opens a drawer and pulls out the map book Xander keeps there. He flips through until he finds the right page. There it is, Sweet Home. It’s about 100 miles away.

He glances at the clock. It’s only midnight; there’s still plenty of darkness left.

He heads back to the bedroom and pulls on his jeans, a black t-shirt, and his jacket. He laces on his Docs.

Before he leaves, he writes a note for the watcher. _Gone to check out a tip on Xan. Should be home by dawn_. He doesn’t say where he’s going. If Dan’s information leads to nothing, which seems most probable, he’ll probably be back home before Giles wakes. If it leads to trouble, he doesn’t want to drag his friends into it. And if it leads to Xan…well, that’s not bloody likely, is it?

He closes the door softly behind him when he goes.

 

Sweet Home is a one-stoplight town. The A&amp;W, the Shell station, and the Rio Theater are closed up and dark. There’s no sign of life at all, actually. Not another moving car on Main Street, not even the local sheriff waiting for someone to fall into a speed trap.

The scent of water and conifers permeates the air, and just off in the distance is the smudge of hills.

He drives through town, seeing nothing that looks like an abattoir. But they don’t usually put those in the center of things, do they? Don’t want to offend the good citizens’ delicate sensibilities by reminding them where their hamburgers come from.

Just past the city limits, the road starts to climb and the forest crowds in closely. He slows to a crawl. Not like he’s going to cause a traffic jam anyway.

Then he sees pavement leading off to the left. There’s no sign. He stops the van and gets out to examine the road. There are quite a few muddy tire tracks. It rained hard a few days ago, hard enough to wash tracks like this away.

He pulls the van off to the side and proceeds down the pavement on foot. The only noises out here are those of the creatures that hunt and scurry through the night. Like him. After about 50 yards, the drive makes a sharp turn. When he follows it, he finds himself in a clearing. The space is dominated by a large, nearly featureless building. There’s a gravel lot with a pickup truck parked in it, and, abutting the building on the other side, a series of empty animal pens.

He draws a deep breath and smells old scents of manure and death.

Lurking soundlessly, he moves closer to the building, then circles through the woods so he can see the side closest to the parked truck. There’s a big set of doors there, and two men are leaning against them. One of them is smoking a cigarette.

He continues to walk around the building. The far side has no entrances at all, except for a couple of windows that are much too high to reach, and probably too small to fit through if he could.

The side where the stockades are attached has three doors and there’s no sign of any guards here. He creeps closer and closer, trying to get a better look. These doors look like they slide upward, much like the one in Xander’s garage. He expects they were meant for moving the cattle in and out of the building. Looking around him carefully and still seeing no sign of anyone else, he walks up to one of the doors and tries to open it. It’s locked. So are the others. He might possibly be able to wrench it open, or he might not. In any case, he’d surely make enough noise in the process to alert the humans out front.

He stalks back out to the cover of the trees, his boots sinking into the thick and fragrant loam. He leans against a broad trunk to think.

Dan’s source was right in that there’s certainly something going on here. Something that doesn’t involve livestock but does seem to require guards at night. But that doesn’t mean it’s some sort of government-type operation. And even if it is, it might have nothing whatsoever to do with Walsh and her lot.

He should drive back home, tell Todd and Giles about this place, see if they can find out what’s going on.

But what if Xander is right here, right now? Is he just going to walk away and leave him?

Whatever he’s going to do, he needs to decide soon, before he runs out of night.

Somewhere, an owl calls.

_It was the owl that shriek’d, that fatal bellman,_

_Which gives the stern’st good night._

Apparently, he’s read Shakespeare.

Abruptly, he stands up straight.

He circles the building again, angling himself downwind from the men at the door. He smells burning tobacco. They are talking quietly, and he can catch snatches of their conversation:

“—told her it was too much, but—“

“—okay if you can trade in—“

“—need the four wheel drive for when—“

“—buy used—“

Nothing very enlightening there.

He sighs. He supposes the old Spike, the Spike who’d never met up with the Maggie Walsh or the Initiative, wouldn’t hesitate a minute to go drain these men and then find out later what’s inside the building. Of course, the old Spike wouldn’t be skulking around in the sodding woods looking for his boyfriend. The boyfriend whom he’d promised he wouldn’t kill innocent humans.

The world was probably a lot simpler place for the old Spike.

One of the men walks away from the door, toward the woods not so far from Spike. Spike ducks behind a tree and stops breathing. When the man gets to the edge of the trees, he unzips his flies and pulls out his prick. Just as he begins to urinate, the man still at the door bends down to do something with his shoe.

Quick as lightning, Spike strikes. He shoves his hand over the closer bloke’s mouth, ignoring the stream of urine that now falls onto his boot. Wrapping his other arm around the man, he jerks him deeper into the darkness. Spike throws him to the ground and pins him in place with his knees, then pinches his nose shut.

The man begins to flail wildly, just as Spike hears someone call, “Jacobs? Where’d you go? Afraid I was gonna see your wee-wee?”

The man under him continues to thrash, his eyes wide with panic. Spike holds him down and listens carefully. Soon the struggling stops and the man is limp, but Spike can hear his heart continuing to beat sluggishly. He removes his hands and, as the other man calls out again—“Jacobs? Where the hell are you?”—he pulls off the man’s jacket and then tears off his t-shirt. The man’s breathing has restarted. Spike improvises a tight gag out of the torn cloth.

He yanks off the man’s shoes and then roughly pulls down his jeans, leaving him dressed only in boxers and socks. His shriveled cock is still sticking out. Spike rips the jeans as well and then uses the tough fabric to hogtie the unconscious man. He’s not sure how long it will hold, but it’ll do for now.

As he hears footsteps approaching through the gravel, he quickly pats the jacket pockets, grunting with satisfaction when he pulls out a gun of some kind. He squints at it and then shoves it into his waistband. He doesn’t know how to use it, but it still might come in handy.

The other man is almost to the trees, and he has a pistol in hand. “Jacobs!”

Spike silently steps around until he’s abreast of the man, then, as the man enters the woods, behind him. Spike lunges forward and tackles him. The man shouts and falls to the ground, losing his grip on the gun. Spike holds him down with his body while he uses a free hand to grab the gun and fling it out of reach.

The man is screaming and squirming beneath him. He stills quite suddenly when Spike pulls out his stolen weapon and presses the muzzle against the back of his head. “Who the fuck are you?” the bloke asks.

“The man on top gets to ask the questions, mate. You one of Walsh’s lot?”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. Let me go!”

“In good time. What are you people doing here?”

“None of your goddamn business!”

Spike smacks him lightly with the gun. “You’d best keep a civil tongue. Tell me who you are.”

Unexpectedly, the man bucks and reaches for Spike’s wrist. Bloke’s had some martial arts training, it looks like. He almost gets loose, and, a little desperately, Spike grabs hold of his head and twists. There’s a loud snap and the man is suddenly dead still. Emphasis on the dead.

Bugger. If he isn’t one of Walsh’s lot, this will mean trouble.

Spike shrugs and rises to his feet. Too late to fret about it now.

Pushing the gun back into his trousers, Spike walks towards the building. The doors are locked with a heavy sliding bolt, which is odd. Unless the intent is to keep people in, rather than keeping them out.

Carefully, he pushes the bolt open. He pulls the door enough to peek inside.

At first, he sees nothing other than some old machinery and rusted metal sinks and tables. But just then there’s a momentary break in the clouds and the nearly-full moon shines through the windows. The light flashes off…something pale, hanging in the gloom.

He steps through the door.

He takes a few slow steps, trying to make out what the thing is. Then the moon slips through again, and for a split second, he gets a flash of a view.

It’s a body.

A thin, naked body, hanging by its arms from a ceiling beam.

He freezes.

“Xander?” he whispers.

Just as a bolt of pain strikes his back and his muscles give way.

He’s unconscious before he hits the floor.

 

Sadly, the position in which he wakes up is very familiar.

He’s chained to a metal table very like the ones he’s been bound to so many times before.

He’s naked, of course.

And he’s cold.

Why does it always have to be sodding _cold_?

The familiar shape of the metal ball gag fills his mouth.

A small cluster of people are staring down at him. He can’t move his head, but he’s clearly not in either of the exam rooms. The ceiling in here is cracked and slightly mossy concrete. A single bare bulb illuminates the space.

He tests his bonds. They don’t budge. No surprise there.

He doesn’t recognize any of these humans. One of them, a wiry man with flaming orange hair, pokes at his chest, as if he’s not quite sure Spike is real. Spike looks daggers at him, because, really, what else can he do?

Then the man tugs hard at the ring in his cock. “Is this part of the standard equipment?” he asks.

“Nah,” says another bloke, a chubby man with long black hair and a sallow complexion. “It must’ve done that itself.”

“But you’re sure this is the same one? ‘Cause Walsh is gonna be pissed if—“

“I’m sure. I saw it fight a bunch of times. It dusted the vamp me and Richardson were trying to train.” He laughs. “Richardson made them fuck first. It was really funny. Richardson chained our vamp to the bars and then this one—“

The man is interrupted by the crash of a door flying open. Brisk footsteps near. Then a familiar face is frowning down at him.

“Seventeen,” Maggie Walsh says. “This is quite a surprise.”

Despite himself, Spike’s stomach clenches with fear. And then the realization crashes through him. If this is Walsh, then the body he saw really might have been Xander. Fuck.

“I guess the reports of your demise have been much exaggerated, yes?”

She reaches into her coat pocket and pulls out the gray box. “Remember this?” As he blinks at her, she presses the button. He automatically winces, but nothing happens. She punches it again. And again.

Her frown deepens. “It appears you found a way to circumvent the control chip and the tracking device. And the collar, which I was assured was permanent,” here she pauses to glare at one of the other humans, “has been removed. I’ll be most interested to hear how.”

She taps him lightly on the sternum. “But what I’d most like to know, Seventeen, is why Harris lied about having dusted you. And why you’ve come sneaking around here.”

Now she cups her hand against the side of his face. “But…all in good time, I think. And you know what? I think this is going to be a boon to the project. Because I suspect One is going to be interested to see you now.”

She turns to the red-haired bloke. “I want to give it some time to…settle in…before we use it. But as long as you keep it confined like this, and you don’t do any permanent damage, you and the boys are welcome to play with it a while. I’d suggest letting Jacobs at it first.”

She walks away, slamming the door behind her.

A stocky man with thinning, sandy-colored hair scowls down at him now. It’s the bloke he asphyxiated. Jacobs.

“Don’t touch it yet,” Jacobs snarls and walks away.

He returns several minutes later brandishing a length of metal piping. Without any preamble, he starts bashing the pipe against Spike’s chest and stomach. Spike grunts with pain each time he’s hit. He hears the sounds of his own ribs cracking. The pipe comes down across his face and his nose is crushed. _I’ll match Xander_, he thinks nonsensically. His blood sprays everywhere and he can’t breathe at all. Then Jacobs swings again, and this time the pipe lands between Spike’s spread legs, slamming against his testicles and penis. He lets out a choked howl.

He’s hardly surprised when Jacobs shoves the pipe up his arse.

When Jacobs is done with him, the others take their turns, beating and raping him. But he’s only vaguely aware of what’s happening to his body. His eyes are swollen nearly shut, his head is swimming, and his only real thought is a desperate need to know whether Xander is here.

Eventually, they get bored with him. Groggily, he hears them walk away and slam the door shut. They turn off the light before they go, leaving him in complete darkness. He waits to pass out, and is disappointed when he doesn’t.

He’s there a long time, hearing nothing, seeing nothing but blackness.

As he has before, he loses all sense of time. His injuries partially heal and he can breathe again, but he grows hungry.

His muscles cramp from his long restraint, and the smooth metal of the table seems to grind against his skin and bones.

His empty belly clenches.

He thinks of his friends in Portland. Maybe Willow will be able to track Walsh, and then—He laughs bitterly into the gag. The pen. The fucking pen. It’s still in his jacket pocket and that—that’s wherever these bastards have put his clothes. The witch won’t be able to do her mojo. Spike is lost and if Xander’s here, he’s lost, too.

Days pass. Perhaps weeks. The familiar red fog crowds his mind, but this time even the hunger can’t push away his anguish.

It seems like he’s tasted so many kinds of grief and despair in the short time since he was wiped. But now, knowing that his own foolishness has destroyed whatever chance Xander may have had, that’s the bitterest of all.

 

[Chapter 7](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/13234.html#cutid1)


	10. 7 Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)    for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)    for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 7: Together**_  
**Chapter Title:** 7 Together   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)    for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)    for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

A reunion in this chapter. And a bit of a chance to catch our breaths before tomorrow's chapter, which is long and, um...you'll see.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)  
---  
  
He barely stirs the next time they come.

Then something is waved under his nose and he pries his heavy eyelids open. It smells like—

Blood.

Something is thrust into his mouth. A straw. He sucks weakly and food seeps into his mouth. It doesn’t taste nearly as good as the meals he’s taken straight from veins. In fact, he can tell immediately that it’s not even human. And while some part of him might be slightly disappointed, most of him is relieved.

As he drinks, his strength slowly returns. He pictures himself as a car with a sputtering engine, gas gauge on empty but gradually crawling upwards. He groans when he draws nothing but air and the straw’s removed, but a moment later it’s returned and he’s swallowing more blood.

By the time the straw’s been replaced three times more he can stand steadily on his feet and look around him. Maggie Walsh looks back.

“You’re a very stupid creature, One,” she says. “You could have had all the blood you wanted—fresh, human blood—and yet you’ve refused.”

He just looks at her steadily.

“I’m sure that in time you would give in. But I’m getting a little impatient to move along. And besides, I’ve been saving a surprise for you.”

He doesn’t like the sound of that at all.

She looks over her shoulder. “Boys, get it ready.”

Greco steps forward and points a Taser at Xander’s midsection. “Don’t move,” he growls.

Two of the others step behind him and shove a gag in his mouth, buckling it tightly behind his head. And then—Oh, holy shit, they’re releasing his wrists. He screams in agony, his cries only partially muffled by the metal in his mouth, as the cramped and rigid muscles in his arms are abruptly pulled downwards and then his hands are refastened behind his back.

Greco steps closer and pushes the muzzle of his weapon into the hollow directly over Xander’s navel. The men in back of him unlock the fetters on his ankles and shove his feet closer together, then attach the cuffs and the short hobble chain. Greco holsters the Taser and pulls a length of leather out of his coat pocket. It’s a leash, which he snaps onto Xander’s collar.

Walsh walks away and the others follow. Greco yanks on the leash and Xander stumbles behind him, finding the act of walking strange and unfamiliar. They go through a door—the same door that leads to the bathroom where he’d been kept before, he thinks. Yes, it is, and they proceed down the dirty hallway. But they pass the bathroom and instead halt two doors down.

Walsh pulls out a key and unlocks it.

Before she opens the door, though, she turns to him. “You’re going to have to explain this to me, One. But first, well, I thought you’d want to see this.” She yanks the door open.

The room is about ten feet square and is completely bare, apart from a light bulb overhead and the object in the middle of the floor. It’s a metal table, and bound tightly to it is—

Xander falls to his knees.

No, oh God, please no.

Xander can’t see his face because of the angle of the table. His head is strapped tightly, which means he can’t turn and see Xander, either. But Xander doesn’t need to see his face to recognize him. For one thing, there’s the missing toe, the smallest toe on his left foot. For another, there’s the big silver ring through the fleshiest part of his cock.

But mainly it’s his scent. Xander supposes he’s always been vaguely aware of his vampire’s faint personal odor, but never took particular notice of it. Humans rarely do. With his enhanced senses, though, he is bathed in the smell of limes and copper and leather and paper and vanilla and whiskey.

He can smell emotions as well—fear and hopelessness and sorrow.

“Get up, One!” Walsh says, prodding his thigh with a pointy shoe. With a little difficulty, and with his head spinning, he complies. Greco removes the gag, releases the handcuffs, and then shoves him into the room.

He turns and looks at Walsh, who has a smug smile on her face. “Surprised? Go ahead and do whatever you want to it.”

He takes a deep breath through his nose and then takes another two steps forward.

Spike’s face is crusted with old, dried blood. More blood—and other dried fluids—coat the area around his sphincter, and a thick layer of it has collected on the table between his legs. He’s skeletal and his skin is gray and dusty looking. He looks as starved as Xander must have until a short time ago. He is almost completely immobile and Spike’s mouth is stuffed with a metal ball identical to the one Greco just pulled out of Xander’s mouth.

As Xander approaches, Spike cracks open his eyelids. His dull gaze wanders a bit, then lands on Xander. It freezes.

“Spike.” Xander whispers it so quietly that he knows the humans behind him won’t hear it.

Spike’s eyes widen and he makes a choked and horrible sound.

Xander takes one last step and then cups a hand against Spike’s battered-looking face.

“I’m sorry, Spike. I’m so, so sorry.” He can barely get the quiet words out and now his vision blurs with tears.

Spike blinks rapidly. His chest is heaving and he’s struggling uselessly against his bonds, all the time making desperate moaning sounds. Then his nostrils flare, and flare again. Every muscle in his body tenses. His eyes become impossibly wider, whites showing all the way around the blue, and now the noise he’s making is high-pitched and keening.

He’s realized what Xander’s become.

Xander chokes back a sob and bends down to rest his head against Spike’s.

“Now, this is interesting. When we discovered Seventeen still in existence, I assumed it had escaped from your custody, and that your report was an attempt to cover that up. And I couldn’t understand why it would show up here.”

What? Show up here? Xander had figured they’d taken Spike when they took him, but—

“Oh, sweetheart, you didn’t,” he whispers. Spike is crying now, too. Xander can smell the salt of his tears.

“But now it’s clear. You were using it sexually, weren’t you?”

Xander doesn’t answer her.

“Yes, and despite your…changed circumstances…you’d like to resume doing so. Perhaps even more so, with your stronger sexual instincts.”

Xander ignores her. He kisses Spike softly on the cheeks, the brows, around his stretched lips. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen to them next and he wants to do this while he still can. He hopes Spike isn’t disgusted by him.

“I wonder…I wonder how powerful this instinct is. One, break the fingers on Seventeen’s right hand.”

He continues kissing. And isn’t surprised when a blast of pain from the collar drives him to his knees. He yelps, but quickly scrambles back to his feet and resumes caressing Spike. Spike looks frantic.

“One! If you do not obey I will continue the punishment until you lose consciousness.”

He’s out of time already, then. “I’m sorry, Spike. I love you. God, I love—“

He’s interrupted by the jolts of pain. As Walsh promised, the jolts continue until he passes out.

 

When he comes to, he’s lying on his back on metal bars. There are more bars close overhead and, above that, what he recognizes as the ceiling of the big room. Still muddled and dizzy, he struggles to his knees. His ankles are still hobbled, but now his hands are cuffed in front of him, the cuffs attached to a chain approximately six inches long.

He’s surrounded by thick bars. In a small cage.

Another cage is adjacent to his, sharing one barred wall. Spike is huddled on his side, bound the same as Xander and unconscious. His gag has been removed, but a collar has been added. If Xander’s blood weren’t already cold, seeing Spike collared again would have done the trick.

Walsh and her crew are standing and watching. Her eyes are bright and shiny with excitement, like a child with a new toy.

She smiles her scary smile at him. “I think perhaps I underestimated the strength of sex as a motivating factor.”

He wants to tell her it’s not sex, goddammit, it’s love. But what’s the point? She wouldn’t believe him anyway.

“I believe this will take the project in an interesting new direction.” She glares balefully at Spike’s motionless form. “But I suppose we’ll have to wait until Seventeen recuperates.”

She turns to her men. “Boys, follow me. We have some planning to do.”

As soon as they leave, Xander tests the bars of his cage, looking for any hint of give. But the bars are thick and solidly welded. The cage is small, about five feet all around, and the bottom is secured to hooks in the floor with heavy chains.

He presses as close to Spike as he can get. “Spike! Spike!” he calls.

His vampire stirs a little and groans.

“Spike! Please, baby, wake up.”

Spike groans again and his eyes ease open. He looks at Xander blearily. “Xan?” he breathes. His voice is raspy and coarse.

“Come closer, sweetheart, please.”

Spike blinks a few times and then, with what looks like extreme effort, drags himself another foot or so closer.

“Xan, you’re—“

“Sshh. Eat first, okay?” It’s awkward, but Xander’s able to maneuver the underside of one arm against a gap in the bars near Spike’s face. The bars are too close-set for him to actually reach through.

Spike just looks at him.

“Please? You have to feed, Spike.”

“I can’t, I—“

“It’s okay. They just fed me really well. Please drink. _Please_, baby.”

Spike looks at him for a moment longer and then vamps out. By straining his mouth a little he can just manage to sink his fangs beneath the cuff on Xander’s arm.

Holy shit. Xander is instantly hard enough to hammer nails. How convenient for a carpenter, huh? It’s always felt good when Spike bit him, but that was nothing compared to the goodness he’s feeling now. He moans and realizes Spike’s moaning right along with him.

Then Spike tears himself away and stares at him with wild-eyed.

“Have more, sweetheart.”

But Spike shakes his head. “Xan—“

Xander shifts around and leans his forehead and hands against their shared bars. Spike does the same, their skin touching in two inch increments. Spike looks better already from having fed a little, and his cock is as hard and dripping as Xander’s.

“Xander, you, you’re….”

Spike’s having trouble saying it, so Xander just nods and then vamps out. His mouth hanging open, Spike sticks a few fingers through the bars and traces Xander’s bumpy brows. When he runs a finger across Xander’s fangs, Xander groans and his hips jerk. “Oh, fuck, Spike. That’s nice.”

Spike slowly withdraws his digits. He stares at Xander, and Xander just waits. Finally, Spike swallows. “Xan, Xander…is it still…still _you_?”

“Still me, baby. I still hate soccer and like sci-fi and I bet I still sing off-key.”

“But how—how….”

Xander thinks about the dream he’d had, or hallucination, or whatever the hell it was. “I’m…I’m not sure. But I still feel mostly like me, you know? Only fangier.”

“And you want to drink blood, pet?”

“Yeah, I do.” He smiles a little. “I ate three of Walsh’s people.”

“You, you _what_?”

“Ate them. She gave me one of them, but I sort of took the other two.”

“They’re dead?”

Xander points to the rotted bodies lying on the floor.

“Pet…how do you feel about that?”

Spike sounds like a psychiatrist. “I’m happy about it. They tasted good.”

“Bloody hell—“

“Besides, they’d hurt you, Spike. One of those bodies over there was Hicks. Remember him?”

Spike’s mouth drops open. “You ate Hicks?”

“Yeah. And Moua. He was my first, um, meal. The other guy was someone named Criswell.”

Spike takes a deep and steadying breath. “Luv, you killed three people. That’s not bothering you?”

“No, it’s not. They’re not the first three people I’ve killed, Spike. And I would’ve happily ripped their throats out months ago, if I could’ve. I just wouldn’t have drained them while I was at it.”

“But you still have your soul?”

“Yeah, I think I do. It was never all that bright and shiny anyway, baby. But I’d definitely feel awful if I killed anyone else. Well, except for Walsh and the rest of these fucks. I really, really want them dead.”

Spike sinks into a sitting position. Xander sticks some fingers through the bars and Spike presses his fingers against them. It’s comforting.

“We tried to find you, you know. Witch did a locating spell. But it didn’t work, and she said it was because you were dead.”

“I am.”

“You have a pretty big hard-on for a dead man, pet.”

Xander grins. “You, too, baby.”

Despite the desperateness of their situation, Xander can’t help but laugh a little. The whole thing is just too absurd. Spike shakes his head, but he chuckles too.

“How’d they turn you, Xan?”

“Drusilla.”

Spike blinks at him again. That’s a lot of surprises the poor vampire has had thrown at him in a very short time. “Dru—Drusilla? My sire?”

“Mine too, now.”

“Where is she?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her since I died. She was a prisoner, too.” He has a sudden strange thought. “Hey, this makes us sort of…brothers, doesn’t it?” He laughs again. But then he quickly sobers.

“Spike, why’d you do it?”

“What, pet?”

“Walsh said you showed up here. Why? They thought you were dust.”

“Pillock. Was looking for you.” Spike frowns and looks down at his feet. “Buggered that up pretty well, didn’t I?”

“Does anyone know where you went?”

Another shake. “Stupid fuck, wasn’t I?”

“I’m the one who got snatched first, Spike. Wasn’t exactly genius of me, either.”

“How long you figure we’ve been here?”

“It’s been weeks for me. How long was I gone when they got you?”

“About a fortnight.”

“So we’ve both been here, all this time, and….Shit.” He sighs. “Do you know how they got me, Spike? I don’t remember. I think I got my head bashed.”

Spike tells what little he knows about the kidnapping, and about the efforts that were made to find him by himself, and Giles, and Todd, and the others. Xander interrupts every so often with a question or a comment—“You and Giles were roomies for two weeks?!”—but mostly he just listens. Then he tells Spike about Walsh’s plans, and what’s happened to him here.

By the time they’re finished, they’re lying on their sides facing each other, their bodies as close as the bars will permit and their fingertips pressed together.

“Pet? Why haven’t you turned Greco?”

“I don’t know. I just…I don’t want her plan to work.”

“She can make you do it somehow.”

“I know.”

They’re quiet for a while, simply looking at each other.

“Spike?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever heard of a Chimera demon?”

Spike raises his scarred eyebrow. “Why?”

“I had this sort of…vision.” As he tells Spike about the room and the biker demon and the hyena and the rest, Spike’s jaw drops more and more, until finally he’s gaping hugely.

“So, uh, have you ever heard of a Chimera?”

Spike nods thoughtfully. “And the bit about the vampire—the green demon—I’ve read that as well.”

“So do you think….”

“I think you’ve got a bloody great lot of demons stuck in that head of yours, pet.”

“Fuck.”

Spike is looking at him appraisingly. “Can you…feel them?”

“Not really. Not most of the time.” He thinks for a minute. “But sometimes…you know, when I’m fighting…it sorta feels like I’m…letting something go.” He’s struggling to put it into words, but Spike nods as if he understands.

“How ‘bout you, Spike?”

“Just the one demon for me, luv.”

“Yeah, but do you feel him?”

Now it’s Spike’s turn to try to articulate something difficult. “No. I think…I _am_ him, you know? Being like this, a vampire, it’s all I remember. It’s just…me.”

Spike’s voice is weakening. They’ve been talking for hours and they’re both exhausted.

But what if this is the last time they have together?

Xander scoots a tiny bit more against the bars. Wishes like hell he could wrap his arms around Spike.

“Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“If we could get free….”

“Yeah?”

“Would it bother you that I’m a vampire?”

Spike snorts. “That’d be a bit hypocritical of me, wouldn’t it?”

“But you were already a vamp when I fell in love with you. I was human.”

“Told me yourself, Xan. You’re still you.”

“But….”

“What’s different?”

“Fangs. Bumpies. Blood-sucking. Superstrength. The whole holy water/sunshine/stake thing.”

“That’s just…the trimmings. Don’t matter.”

“I couldn’t keep you warm anymore.”

“We could buy an electric blanket.”

“Mmm. And turn the thermostat up to 80.”

Xander frowns. “You think Willow—God, Willow—and Giles, and Todd….You think they’d still.…”

“Love you?”

Xander sighs. “Yeah.”

“’Course, pet. They care about me, despite what I am. They’ll always love you.”

There’s a pause.

“Think Dan would still let me work for him?”

Spike snorts softly. “Told you before—working with bits of pointed wood is no place for a vampire.”

Another long pause. Xander wants to cry, but he feels like he’s all cried out. Now he’s just hollow.

“Will you drink some more, sweetheart?”

“Don’t want to make you weak.”

Xander’s laugh is bitter. “I’m already weak.” He presses his wrist against the bars. “Here.”

Spike looks at him for a long minute, then copies Xander’s position. “You too, pet. It’ll be nice, yeah?”

After only a brief hesitation, Xander nods. Almost simultaneously, he and Spike sink their fangs into each other.

Holy fucking shit. It’s an awkward position, both of them twisted around on their sides, but fuck, it feels so good. Spike’s soft lips are against his skin, sucking gently, and he feels the slow drawing of himself into Spike’s mouth. At the same time, Spike is being drawn into him, every sip bringing electric fizzles, just like Spike had said. It’s like he has Pop-Rocks in his veins.

It was wonderful when he fed on Walsh’s men, but that didn’t hold a candle to this. That was just eating. This—this is the most erotic sensation he’s ever experienced. He feels like his head is full of helium, and, judging by the noises Spike is making, he’s enjoying himself as well.

With just a little more maneuvering, and without breaking the contact between their mouths and arms, he manages to stick his rock-hard and dripping cock through the bars. Spike immediately shifts a bit so his cock, which is every bit as needy, is pressed against Xander’s.

They slowly rock their hips together, keeping in rhythm with their nursing mouths. Despite the barrier between them, they feel like one writhing body, and Xander can’t tell where he ends and Spike begins. Doesn’t care if he’s consuming or being consumed.

He’d like to go on like this all night. Hell, he’d like to go on like this forever. But the sensations are just too much. His eyes roll back in his head and he howls around Spike’s wrist at the same time Spike howls around his. Cold semen splashes his belly, his and Spike’s together.

Gradually, they fall still. They each retract their teeth and allow their faces to shift back to human, before they allow their muscles to relax. Xander’s eyes feel heavy and he’s drifting into sleep.

“Spike?” Xander mumbles.

“Yeah, Xan?”

“Whatever happens to us…I love you.”

“Still do?”

“Still do.”

Spike sighs. “Love you, too.”

 

[Chapter 8a](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/13486.html#cutid1)


	11. 8a Persuasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)    to for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;    for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 8a: Persuasion**_  
**Chapter Title:** 8a Persuasion   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)    to for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;    for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

I'm posting this a little early. It may take a while to read through because it's long and intense. Take the warnings seriously for this chapter.

**This chapter is in two parts!**

 

[](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)

He wakes before Xander does and lies still, looking at the sleeping form beside him. Xander’s not breathing, and he wonders whether he stops when he sleeps as well. Xander’s pale and filthy and cold, and his heart, his strong, powerful heart, is silent and still. Of all the horrors Walsh has inflicted on him, this is the worst. He’d gladly crawl back into that reeking cell in Omaha if it only meant that Xander could be alive and free.

But Xander is still beautiful, even now, and it’s clear that he hasn’t degraded into some kind of monster. The bit about the Chimera and the rest is…interesting. Unexpected, and yet, somehow, not very surprising, either. It’s a wonder he’s managed to get through life at all with that crowd in his skull. Or maybe it’s that crowd that’s allowed him to make it so far.

The big door crashes open and a beam of light falls inside, stopping just short of the cage. Spike and Xander both scramble into a crouch and watch as Maggie Walsh and her minions come prancing inside. Not many minions now, only five, but Spike recognizes Greco as one of them.

The group steps near the cages and Spike can’t help hissing when he sees that Walsh has a clipboard tucked under her arm. She grins like a death’s head. “Give them their breakfast, Greco.”

Greco is carrying a paper sack. He puts it on the floor and pulls out two round plastic containers. Narrowing his eyes balefully at the vampires, he steps closer and places a container in front of each cage. He pulls off the lids, and the rich scent of cow’s blood immediately hits Spike’s nose. Greco plunks a straw in each container and steps back.

“Eat,” Walsh commands.

Because of the chains that attach their wrist cuffs and the narrowness of the gaps between the bars, they can’t stick their hands through to grasp the containers. In order to eat, they’re going to have to bend down over their knees, a humiliating position not very different from the Bow Greco had trained him to do. But Spike’s still desperately hungry, and this doesn’t seem to him to be worth fighting about. It’s not like these people haven’t seen him in far more demeaning postures hundreds of times.

Spike drops to his knees and uses his fingers to pull the straw close enough to use. He bends his head down and begins drinking. Spike’s main regret is that the lingering taste of Xander is washed from his mouth. Beside him, Xander drinks as well. Despite their sharing of body fluids last night, it’s a little startling to see his Xander supping on blood.

The containers are quite large and, by the time his is emptied, Spike is feeling relatively well-fed. Walsh has been watching closely the entire time, and as he rises back up on his knees, she says, “Do you know what that collar does, Seventeen?”

He nods.

She pulls out another sodding controller box, this time a small black one, and activates it. Pain rips through him and he yells. It’s bad, but not as bad as the chip. But next to him, Xander yells and jerks as well. Bloody hell.

“It’s not as convenient as the chip, of course, but still quite effective, I think. Perhaps later we’ll have the opportunity to reinstall the original device.” He can’t help shuddering at this, and then he thinks of Xander having one of those obscenities shoved in his brain and he shudders again.

“One, are you ready to infect Greco yet?”

One?

Xander shakes his head, and Walsh laughs. “I didn’t think so.” Xander’s right—the woman is completely mad.

“All right, then,” she says. “Let’s try something new.”

Greco pulls a gun out of his pocket and points it at Spike. Xander shouts, but as the sound is leaving his mouth, Spike is hit with a stinging pain in the chest, and then his muscles give out. He’s helpless as Greco and the ginger-haired man rush forward and unlock his cage, then drag him out and quickly hang his wrists from a hook attached to one of the ceiling beams. They hoist the hook slightly so that his feet are a foot or so off the ground. He tries to kick at them with his feet, but his muscles are still sluggish and uncoordinated, and they easily tether the hobble chain to another hook set in the floor. Now he can move his feet only a few inches.

Walsh walks over and strokes his side, carefully and prudently keeping out of reach of his snapping teeth. He writhes like a fish on a line but can’t work free.

She grabs his cock, not very gently, peering at it curiously. She tugs at the ring. “Did you have this put in, One? Or did it do it to itself?”

Xander says, quietly, “Turner and Finn did it.”

She drops Spike and whirls around to face Xander.

“What did you say?”

“Turner and Finn.”

“Where are they?” she demands.

Spike answers before Xander does. “Dead. Saw ‘em myself just recently. Rotting.”

She ignores him. “One?”

Xander grins evilly at her. “I killed them. Just like I killed Hicks and Moua and what’s-his-face—Criswell. Just like I’ll kill you, you crazy bitch.”

Walsh clenches her fists and her face goes red. “Quiet!”

“Or what? You’ll zap me? It won’t change the truth.”

Spike realizes what Xander’s doing. He’s trying to make Walsh angry—trying to deflect her attention from Spike. It almost works, too, for a moment. She takes a half-step towards Xander, and Spike is opening his mouth to say…something…when she stops. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Then she turns back to him.

She grabs hold of the ring and she yanks with all her strength.

Spike screeches with pain as the ring rips through the head of his cock. Xander roars and shakes uselessly at the bars of his cage.

Walsh tosses the ring aside. It bounces loudly against the cement floor. She gazes at his bleeding, ruined organ and smiles. “There,” she says. “That’s better.”

She walks over to the edge of the room, her footsteps echoing as she goes. Her men stand silently, watching her go. There’s a big metal basin along the wall and she pulls something out of it. When she walks back toward him, he can see what it is. A large knife with a rectangular blade. Butcher knife.

She hands the knife to Greco, who turns it over in his hand, a confused expression on his face. She sighs melodramatically. “Sergeant! Hamstrings!”

Oh fuck.

But Spike can do nothing to stop the man as he stalks closer, circles behind Spike, and then slices the knife deeply through the back of Spike’s left leg. A second later, he cuts the right as well.

The blade isn’t sharp, and, as a result, the tearing pain is severe. Worse though, is the knowledge that unless his hamstrings are allowed to heal, he won’t be able to stand or walk. His blood runs thickly, dripping off his feet and onto the floor.

Greco walks around to Spike’s front. Spike’s blood has run down the knife handle onto his hand. “Fancy a taste of me?” Spike asks him through gritted teeth. “See what your diet will be like when you’re turned?”

Greco’s handsome face twists into an angry snarl, but he doesn’t reply.

Walsh is watching the puddle form underneath him. “I wonder if vampire blood tastes different from human,” she mumbles to herself thoughtfully. Spike could have told her the answer is yes. Xander’s flavor has changed. It’s not completely different—more like a shift from bourbon to Scotch—but it’s definitely not the same.

Walsh shakes herself out of her reverie. “Greco, the lash,” she says sharply. Brilliant.

Greco walks to the door. He drops the knife on the floor and picks up an object that’s leaning against the doorway. It’s a cat o’ nine tails. Maybe the same one he’d used to beat and bugger Spike in Omaha. Greco snaps it a few times as he approaches.

“One, you can stop this anytime by voluntarily obeying.”

Spike and Xander lock eyes. They don’t need words to communicate their thoughts right now. Xander’s not going to capitulate. Spike doesn’t want him to. It’s a silly exercise anyway. What’s Walsh going to do if Xander does give in? Dust Spike off and show him to the door?

The first blow lands across his back, followed shortly by another. Spike sets his jaw and makes no sound. He’s endured this before.

“One, if you say the word, I’ll stop this. You can have a nice meal, and then I’ll let you have sex with Seventeen.”

Xander’s sporting fangs. He glares at her and says nothing.

Soon the lashes are coming hard and fast enough that he can’t differentiate one blow from the next. His back and arse and the back of his legs are a solid sheet of fire, and he expects his skin must be in tatters by now.

Then Greco comes around to his front and starts flogging his chest and belly and groin. He groans whenever a strip of leather makes contact with his torn cock. He watches Xander, who flinches with every blow. Greco brings the cat across his face, and Spike finally screams when the whip hits his eyes, blinding him.

He barely notices when the flogging stops.

But he can still hear the scritch-scritch of Walsh’s pen on that bloody clipboard.

“All right, One. We’ll try again tomorrow. Oh—not tomorrow. I forgot, I have another engagement. Wednesday, then.

“Greco, Jacobs, Burris. It’s all yours until then. Keep it suspended like this. Don’t do any permanent damage to it.”

She walks away. The door crashes open and then shut again.

Someone steps close to him. He inhales. Greco.

“I’m curious about something,” the man says. There’s a tearing sound, then Spike smells cold blood. Human. A straw is thrust in his mouth and he takes greedy sips, drawing the fluid as fast as he can.

His old training resurfaces and, despite his injuries, his cock hardens. Greco laughs delightedly. “I’m so glad you remember your lessons! Has Harr—One been practicing with you?” Greco grabs him and strokes him roughly, making sure to rub hard against the wound at the head.

In his cage, Xander growls, and that makes Greco laugh again. “Don’t like it when I play with your toy, One? Hey dudes, want to play, too?”

Bootsteps shuffle towards him. As Greco continues to fondle him, the hook on which he is suspended is lowered so that his feet brush the ground. Someone squeezes his arse cheeks, rubbing his thumbs into the welts and slices.

“I can see why you were so taken with it, One. It has a really pretty ass, always nice and tight. And it’s a really good little cocksucker, too, isn’t it?”

Abruptly, a hard cock is thrust inside him. He hisses in pain as the man behind him—it’s not Jacobs, so it must be Burris—pounds hard into his torn hole. His blood lubricates a bit, but not enough to stop him from being injured.

Greco grabs his bollocks with his other hand, squeezes them hard in rhythm with stroking. Spike can’t help it—a whimper escapes his compressed lips.

A warm flood washes inside him as Burris grunts and comes. Then Jacobs takes his place, his rough trousers scratching against Spike’s sore backside with every plunge. Greco is whistling, which reminds Spike of Finn. Fuck—was there something about this in the Initiative handbook? His song follows the same tempo as his hands.

Spike allows his body to shift back and forth between the movements of the two men, not that he has much say in the matter. Even as he’s being assaulted, the blood is doing its work, healing him, and he hopes that soon he’ll be able to see again. He wants to know the expression on Xander’s face. Is he disgusted? Of course Xander had known how Spike had been used before, but to see it like this—is this what will finally convince Xander of Spike’s debasement, of his defilement?

But then Xander speaks, low and steady. “Spike, honey, listen to me. I love you. I’m sorry—God, I’m so sorry. Remember that bar we went to in New York? The one with the three-headed swamp demon? Think about that now, baby. Just think about that.”

Spike shakes his head. “Xan—“ is all he can choke out, as Jacobs and Greco speed their thrusts.

“Spike, I lo—“

“Shut the fuck up!” That’s Greco, and he squeezes Spike’s bollocks brutally as he says it. Spike groans.

But Xander’s voice doesn’t falter. “You sick motherfucker. You know what I did to Turner and Finn? To Hicks and Moua and Criswell? Nothing compared to what I’ll do to you, Greco. I’ll make you pray for death. I’m going to make you regret every time you ever touched my darling.”

Xander’s quiet menace sends a thrill down Spike’s spine. But it’s his last word, together with the unexpected scent of fear that emanates from Greco, that sends cold fire through Spike’s bollocks and cock and belly and head. His release coats Greco’s hand and Greco takes his hand away, glaring at the sticky mess.

“Oi, mate,” Spike croaks. “Whyn’t you put your hand to my mouth? See if I’ll lick it off.”

Greco narrows his eyes and flaps his hand, flinging some of the semen to the floor. He wipes the rest off on Spike’s flank.

Jacobs finally finishes and pulls out. Tepid fluids drip down Spike’s thighs and calves, joining the pool of blood at his feet.

Greco walks away for a moment and returns with the gag in his hand. He shoves it between Spike’s jaws, careful to avoid getting himself bitten, and buckles it on. He hoists the hook up again, leaving Spike dangling by his arms.

“C’mon, guys,” he says. The other two follow him out the door. The lock slides shut.

“Spike? Sweetheart?” Xander’s voice is a whisper. “Can you hear me?”

Spike nods.

“Sleep. Let yourself go.”

Spike shakes his head. Can’t.

“C’mon baby. I—I know….“

And he starts singing, so softly only a vampire could have heard it.

_I wish I could back up and start all over_

_Days I would take back, nights I’d want to make longer_

_Moments I’d never just throw over my shoulder_

_I wish I could back up and start all over_.

When Spike groans loudly, Xander laughs a little and switches songs. Better. Clash.

_In the city of the dead_

_Fall in love and fall in bed_

_It wasn’t anything you said_

_Except I know we both lie dead._

As Spike does drift away, he thinks to himself that Xander was right. He still sings off-key.

 

He can see again by the time he wakes. Xander is huddled in his cage, arms wrapped around his knees. He’s looking at Spike.

“Hey, baby,” Xander says.

Spike blinks at him.

“What they did to you…It’s gonna get worse.”

Spike nods.

“You want me to give in, turn the bastard?”

Spike shakes his head.

“Okay. Good.”

Xander’s quiet for a while. Contemplative.

“You know I love you?”

Nod, and a noise that Spike hopes Xander understands. It means “Love you too, you big poof.”

Maybe Xander does, because the corners of his lips twitch.

“Want me to sing some more?”

Big, exaggerated shake. Xander chuckles.

“I wish I could touch you.”

Spike moans.

“I never thought I’d end up like this, you know? I mean, the whole turned-into-a-vampire and tortured-by-former-government-agents-with-plans-to-take-over-the-world? _That_ part I kinda expected.”

It’s bloody frustrating not to be able to speak, but it’s nice to listen to Xander’s voice, at least.

“The part I didn’t expect was you.”

Spike raises his eyebrows.

“I thought I was gonna die…alone. I never thought I’d end up with someone like you.”

Spike rolls his eyes. Of course he couldn’t have predicted he’d have a love affair with a bloody vampire.

“No, Spike, not the vampire part.” Hmm. Xan can read his eye rolls. “Sadly, that’s not a surprise either. I mean the _you_ part. I didn’t expect someone as…wonderful as you.”

Wonderful? He botched the rescue and Xander’s just watched him do nothing as he was raped by humans—for at least the hundredth time.

Xander closes his eyes and rests the side of his head on his knees.

_No, don’t_, Spike wants to say. _Please keep talking_. He shakes his feet, causing the chain to rattle. Xander looks up at him.

“You want me to talk some more?”

Nods.

“Okay. How about….Imagine what I’d do if could reach you right now. I’d start with kisses. You know that, right?”

Nod.

“I love to kiss you. Love the way your skin feels against my lips. I’d kiss your eyebrows first. Run my lips over your scar, then down the side of your face. Blow softly in your ear. Then I’d push my lips against yours and stick my tongue in your mouth—no gag, okay?—and taste you. You taste good, Spike. You always did. But now, now that I’m…changed…you’re even better. I’d test every single bit of your mouth, run my tongue over your teeth—you want them to be fangs, baby?”

Spike nods.

“Okay, I’d run my tongue over your fangs, let myself get cut a little so you could have a sip of me, you know?”

Spike’s cock is filling. The wound from the piercing is nearly healed, as are the marks from Greco’s whip.

Xander smiles and scoots a little until his back is against the bars of the cage. He spreads his knees apart, displaying himself. He is getting hard as well.

“Just a little sip for now. A tease, Spike. I’d put my hands on your ass. God, I love your ass. I could write poetry about your ass. So that’s where my hands would be, feeling your silky skin, your muscles. We’d still be kissing, and I’d be rubbing and massaging, and it would feel so good for both of us.”

Spike whines, just a little. Xander looks at him speculatively and then takes his own cock in his hand. Spike’s eyes widen and he whines again.

“Wanna watch while I talk, baby?”

Forceful nod.

Xander’s hand moves slowly, languorously on his shaft, and Spike’s imagining that that’s his cock. Or his hand. Either one. Xander shifts a little, spreading his knees more.

“I’d use my hands to press you up against me, press you hard, and our cocks would fit together perfectly. We’d be wet. I’m wet already, sweetheart, are you?”

Spike nods. He is.

“So our wet cocks would slide so nicely, just real slow. See? Slow like this.”

Spike is hypnotized by the up and down movements of his hand.

“I’d do all the work, and you could just…feel. Feel good. I’d just have to cup your butt and bend my knees a little. And then I’d pull away from the kiss. Although I don’t have to stop to breathe anymore, do I? But I have other ideas. And I’d lick down from the corner of your mouth, down your chin, and then onto your neck.”

Spike’s cock twitches and spurts out a little more precome.

“Yeah, definitely your neck, honey. I’d find that place—you know, where your pulse would be strongest, if you had one—and I’d lick you right there.”

Another twitch, and now Xander’s hand is moving a little faster.

“Then I’d kiss you, and…suck you with my lips. Suck kinda hard, you know, Give you a hickey. Nice, big hickey to mark you as mine.”

There’s another big spurt of liquid at that, and Spike softly moans.

“Yeah, all mine. I’d suck, and—and we’re still rubbing our pelvises together, you know. Hard now. And I’d vamp out, and give you just a little nick with one sharp tooth.”

That elicits a loud groan.

“Uh-uh, baby. Not yet. Don’t hurry me. Where was I? Oh, yeah, a little nick. Then I’d move my mouth down to your left nipple. It would be all hard, just like it is now, and I’d suck on it. Roll it under my tongue. Mmm. Would it feel all tingly, Spike?”

It would. It does, as if the ghost of Xander’s mouth were really there.

“And then I’d bite again, just a little more this time. Three drops of blood.”

Spike’s hips jerk forward. Xander is moving his hips, too, gently humping into his fist. Spike can smell him, his scent drowning out all the other, less significant ones.

“I’d lick down the center of your chest, and you’d complain, because then our cocks couldn’t touch anymore, but I’d tell you to shush, and you would, ‘cause I’d stick my tongue in your belly button. I’d move it in and out, oh so softly, and soon you’d be begging for more. Just like you’re begging now, baby.”

And he is. His eyes are wide and his pupils feel blown. He’s rocking back and forth in his chains, panting through his nose. Xander shifts around so he’s lying on his back, feet flat on the floor, knees bent and spread. He positions himself so that he can watch Spike, and Spike has a good view of what his hand is doing. Right now, what his hand is doing is caressing his shaft, his thumb periodically circling the dripping and reddened glans. His hips rise up to meet each downward movement of his fist.

“So I’d run my tongue down your belly. Oh, but I’d detour. I’d stop to suck on that spot right below your hipbone. The spot I like so much? And I’d give you another little bite right there.”

Christ, if there were phone sex lines for vampires, Xander could be rich.

“But then I’d be on my knees in front of you, and I’d be looking at your pretty cock. You’d be so hard for me, so greedy. I’d just ghost my fingers from the base to the very tip, so lightly you could just barely feel them. Can you feel them, Spike?”

Yes, he can, and the sound he makes now is needy and choked.

“And then my tongue, baby, I’d lick you like a lollipop. My—oh, my mouth is cold now. Hmm, I’ve been drinking something hot. I just had a big swig of hot chocolate, and when I took the tip of you between my lips it’d be a nice 98.6 inside. I’d drop my hand to your balls and swallow you whole, sweetheart. Feel you filling my throat, battering inside me.”

Xander’s hand is moving rapidly now and his hips are snapping quickly. And Spike, Spike is bucking into that warm mouth.

“Roll your hard balls in…in…my hand. Suck on…your hard, hard…fuck!...hard, thick cock.”

Xander’s voice is breaking as his motions become faster and harder.

“A-a-and you’d be…almost coming…almost coming. Just…about…there…fuck! But I’d…I’d move…God, Spike…move my head away.”

And Spike groans out a protest when his pistoning cock slips out of the imaginary mouth.

“B-b-but I’d put my…hand on you…like, like this…like my hand’s on…uggh…me. And. And. And I’d move my m-m-mouth…to…your thigh. Find…artery…find… Bite!”

And with the final word, Xander comes, his body in spasms as the milky fluid erupts from him and spurts onto his hand and belly and chest, and Spike—untouched, except by Xander’s words—Spike comes too, watching Xander, howling into the gag, humping the cold air, spending into nothing but space.

 

Walsh makes her usual grand entrance, clipboard and all. Spike and Xander are both dozing, just…waiting. Because there’s nothing else they can do.

“Reconsidered, One?”

“Fuck you,” Xander mutters.

She pulls out the box and jabs the button savagely. They both jerk and cry out, and Xander gives Spike an apologetic look. But he’s not sorry, and neither is Spike. He’d have said it himself if he could have.

After two days hanging by his wrists, Spike’s arms are sore and cramped. He knows Xander spent weeks hanging like this and he shuts his eyes in belated sympathy. Walsh looks him over and pokes at him a bit. She clutches at his cock and examines it closely.

“Healed already. Amazing,” she says. She pinches at it with sharp nails. Then she drops it and wipes her hands on her trousers.

“Jacobs, Burris, get the table.”

Jacobs and the chubby bloke trot away. The others wait silently. Spike and Xander say nothing, but Xander’s fangs are showing and his yellow eyes are flaming. Jacobs and Burris return shortly, pushing the metal table in front of them. They place it a few feet away from the cages.

“Strap it down.”

Greco moves over and releases the hook very suddenly. Spike grunts in pain as his arms twist downward and he crashes to the floor. Before he can react, Greco’s grabbed his wrists and two others have his ankles. They carry him to the table and hoist him up, then tightly fasten all the chains and buckles.

They remove his gag, which in his experience means nothing good. They probably don’t want discuss the weather with him.

Spike can’t see Xander now, but he can smell the rage pouring off of him.

Walsh walks over and peers down at him. She scribbles something on her clipboard. He’d like to shove that clipboard down her throat. Then she turns around, presumably so she can address Xander.

“Were you this stubborn before you were infected, One? Or is it the demon? Or perhaps it’s just plain stupidity. You had plenty of that before.”

Xander doesn’t take the bait.

“Well, even you are smart enough to know that Seventeen would heal from the flogging. So I think perhaps I need to be a little more persuasive, to get it into that thick head of yours that you can’t win this.”

“Fuck you,” Xander repeats.

“You know I could have you gagged, One.”

Spike can’t see Xander’s response, but he guesses Xander flips her the bird. In any case, she laughs. “Oh, you are quite diverting, really, One. I chose wisely with you.”

He hears footsteps. “Here you are, Greco. I’ll give you the honor.”

When Greco looms over him he’s holding the butcher knife and smiling. Spike’s dried blood still adorns the dull blade.

Walsh comes to his other side and peers at him with mock concern. “Are you right-handed or left, Seventeen?” When he merely looks up at her, she shrugs. “Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like you write poetry in your spare time.”

Xander snorts loudly at this.

“All right, Greco, let’s see…left, I think.”

Under other circumstances, he might be terrified. Even vampires fear amputation—perhaps more than humans, in fact. But he knows he’s never going to be free of this bitch’s grip, so the integrity of his limbs doesn’t particularly matter.

Xander, though, is roaring at her and insulting her ancestry colorfully. She pretends she doesn’t hear him, but Spike can tell by the set of her jaw that she’s angry. And he’s sussed out that making Maggie Walsh loose her cool is Xander’s current favorite hobby.

Greco raises the knife and brings it down hard on Spike’s left wrist, just past the manacle. Because the blade is so blunt, he has to saw at the bones, an extremely unpleasant sound that Spike would have happily gone the rest of his existence without hearing. And soon he isn’t anyway, as the pain becomes intense and the only sounds to reach his ears are his own screams.

Blood spurts everywhere, and Spike feels a bit of grim satisfaction when it gets all over Walsh’s floral blouse. She curses—first time he’s heard that from her—and jumps back.

And then Greco’s done and Spike hears the knife being cast to the floor. One of the other men—Spike doesn’t know his name—steps over and unlocks the severed hand. He holds it up by the little finger and then plops it onto Spike’s chest.

He’s close to blissfully losing consciousness when someone thrusts a straw into his mouth. The blood is human, and he can feel the torn blood vessels and skin knitting together even as he still drinks. Fucking vampire healing. Can’t just bleed out nice and quiet.

The humans prance away, Walsh just stopping to say to Xander, “Next time it’s the right hand.” The door clangs shut.

He can’t move and his arm feels like…feels like somebody hacked at it with a butcher knife. And his stupid hand is still there on his chest like a pale spider. There’s dirt under the fingernails. No traces of the black polish Xander had put on a day or so before Walsh got him.

His mouth is free, though.

“Xan?”

“Jesus, Spike.”

“Did you flip her off?”

Xander sighs. “Yeah.”

“Thought so. You got to her.”

“Good. If I can’t reach her with my fangs or hands, it’ll have to be with my sparkling wit.”

“Better than just taking it.”

A short pause.

“You’re left-handed, Spike.”

“Not any more.”

Another pause. It occurs to Spike that Xander hasn’t fed since that container of cow’s blood two days ago.

“Hungry, pet?”

“Could eat a horse.” Xander’s laugh is bitter.

Oh. The fucking nightmare.

“It’s happened, yeah? What you dreamed?”

“Yeah. Maybe one of my demons is a fucking psychic. Woulda been more helpful if they’d told me not to go drywall shopping that day.”

“She would’ve caught up with you eventually, luv.”

“Not if I’d caught her first.”

They’re both silent a while. Rain is pounding on the roof. Sounds like a big storm.

“What are you thinking, baby?”

“It would’ve been nice to go to the beach together. I can’t remember ever walking on a beach.”

“You’re a vamp of romance.”

Spike’s turn to snort. “Who bought out a whole shop’s worth of flowers a couple of months ago and spread rose petals on the bed, you big ponce?”

“Ah, but I was human then.”

“You wouldn’t do it now?”

“Yeah, I would.” He laughs. “Probably just throw whole roses on the bed now, thorns and all.”

“Because?”

“Because then the thorns would prick you and I could lick away the blood.”

“That’s—that’s inspired, pet.”

“Thanks.”

“Only a few weeks turned and you come up with something like that.”

“I’ve had good role models.”

“Models, plural?”

“Yeah. Angel.”

Spike sputters a bit. “A-Angel? You and An—“

“Oh, God, no. No. I hated him. Got him sent to hell once. But he was Mr. Romance for Buffy. When he wasn’t Angelus, anyway. He gave her a ring. Went to the prom with her.”

“Who did you go with, pet?”

Xander actually giggles a little, and that makes Spike forget the pain for a minute. “Anya.”

“Demon girl?”

“Yeah. That’s when we started dating.”

“I called her, you know.”

“You call—why?”

“Thought maybe…maybe she could help find you. Zilla’s idea.”

“What’d she say?”

“She wanted me to talk about us shagging.”

Xander laughs again. “Sounds like my girl.”

“She said she’d ask around about you, too.”

“She’s not bad. For a former vengeance demon.”

Spike’s knackered.

“Pet?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Will you sing to me again?”

Soft laughter. “Sure, baby.”

 

[Chapter 8b](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/13637.html#cutid1)


	12. 8b Persuasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)   for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;    for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 8b: Persuasion**_  
**Chapter Title:** 8b Persuasion   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)   for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;    for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

I'm posting this a little early. It may take a while to read through because it's long and intense. Take the warnings seriously for this chapter.

**This chapter is in two parts!**

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)  
---  
  
When the door slams open this time, it’s apparently just Greco and Jacobs. They slam something down on the floor. Then they go to Xander in his cage, and there’s the sounds of liquid splashing off of the bars and cement, and off of Xander, too. The smell tells him it’s urine. Xander doesn’t say anything.

Then they stand over Spike. Jacobs has alcohol on his breath. “I don’t understand why Professor Walsh is keeping this one around,” Jacobs says.

“Leverage.”

“She could’ve forced that bastard to turn us weeks ago. I think she’s lost—“

“Shut the fuck up!” Greco’s face instantly goes bright red. “She knows what she’s doing, and you’re just a brainless grunt, okay? You don’t question her. Ever.”

Jesus. Spike wonders whether Walsh has done something to Greco to make him such a true believer, or if he’s just naturally like that.

Jacobs has raised his hands placatingly. “Hey dude, chill. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just meant—“

“I don’t care what you meant.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever, dude.”

Greco takes a deep breath. “Anyway, it’s fun to play with.” He grins and pulls out a gun. Spike recognizes it as the same one he’d used on Spike before. Spike tries to prepare himself for the pain and loss of muscle control, but it does no good. As soon as Greco shoots him, he shoves the gun back into a holster, and then he and Jacobs rapidly detach all the straps binding Spike to the table. His severed hand falls to the floor.

With Greco at his head and Jacobs at his feet, they drag him off the table and across the floor, stopping quite close to Xander’s cage. An odd device is there. It looks a little like a low, backless chair. Then Spike sees the large dildo that extends up the middle of the device, and he has a pretty good idea what’s going to happen next.

Sure enough, the men maneuver him over the thing, and then sit him on it, roughly impaling his tender hole with the protruding chunk of rubber. He doesn’t have sufficient mastery of his body yet to sit upright by himself, let alone struggle against the intrusion. As Greco supports his torso, Jacobs tightens a series of chains around his legs and waist.

He realizes how the device works. The seat is on rollers of some kind. As the seat moves back and forth, a gear mechanism drives the dildo up and down inside him. The chains prevent him from rising enough to dislodge the dildo from his body.

Jacobs fishes in one of his pockets and pulls out a metal ring, about an inch and half wide and an inch and half in diameter. He flips it open, shows Spike the inside, which is lined with four rows of sharp metal points. “I heard One call you Spike. Thought this’d be perfect for you.” He grabs Spike’s cock and bollocks and snaps the ring around their base. It’s painful now, but will clearly be more so if Spike becomes aroused.

He’s regaining control of himself now, and Greco must recognize that, because he steps back. He’s attached a chain to Spike’s collar, and now he fastens the other end to a nearby hook in the floor. It permits just enough slack for him to move back and forth on the machine. Jacobs steps away, too.

Greco takes a mobile phone from his shirt pocket. “It’s ready,” he says and hangs up.

Spike looks at Xander, who’s sitting cross-legged, gazing solemnly at him. His hair is wet, and the piss has dripped tracks through the dirt and old, caked blood on Xander’s body. “Can I see your arm, baby?” Xander says softly.

Spike holds up his mutilated limb.

“Still hurt?”

“Not much,” Spike lies. It actually aches a lot.

“Shut it!” Greco snaps, smashing his fist against the bars of the empty cage.

Three more people enter the room and shut the door behind them. The rest of Walsh’s party. They stand in a semicircle around Spike, a respectful distance from his free hand and fangs, and smirk.

Greco puts his hand inside his jacket and produces a gun. No—it’s a toy. A water pistol. “Wanna see something funny?” he asks. He points it at Xander and pulls the trigger. Xander shrieks and curls into a defensive ball. There’s the smell of burning flesh. Fuck.

Then Greco looks at Spike. “Do you still have those sensors in your prick and hand, Seventeen?”

Spike considers not answering, but Greco brandishes the bit of plastic at him. He shakes his head.

Greco smiles broadly. “Good. ‘Cause I’m gonna give you one last chance to jerk off. Isn’t that nice of me?”

He waves the pistol again and Spike nods.

“Grab your dick.”

When Spike hesitates, Greco turns and shoots another spray at Xander. The odor of Xander’s skin charring makes Spike want to vomit. He wraps his remaining hand around his flaccid cock.

“See? Even without the chip you can be a good little vampire. Here’s the game. You’re gonna fuck yourself with that machine while you choke the chicken. Every 60 seconds I’m gonna splash your…” he gestures with the toy toward Xander”…whatever it is. The longer it takes you to come, the more Lovervamp gets cooked. Understand?”

Spike nods and looks desperately toward Xander. His chest and hands are burned. Xander’s eyes are so somber. He thought he’d almost chased that sadness away, and now…now Xan looks heartbroken. Is.

“Clock’s tickin’, freak.”

Spike begins to stroke himself. If he pushes slightly with his feet, the seat rocks under him, and the dildo plunges up and down. He holds his maimed arm tightly against his side.

The men watch silently, avidly, their eyes bright with malice.

Greco shoots Xander, who helplessly tries to huddle into the far corner of his cage. The holy water hits his shoulder and Xander cries out.

Spike moves faster. His cock has begun to fill and the spines on the inside of the cock ring are digging in. The large piece of rubber reaming his unlubricated passage hurts as well.

He locks eyes with Xander and tries to tune the rest of the room out. He tries to pretend he’s doing this for his lover, that the show is just for him. It helps. He’s now fully erect. Xander blinks at him. Xander changes to his demon face, opens his mouth, and runs his tongue over his fangs. That helps more, and a small bead of precome appears.

Greco sprays Xander again, and this time some of the water splashes onto his cheek, melting the flesh right next to the scar. Xander snarls and tries to hide his face.

Spike moves faster. He pretends that the hand on his cock is larger, more calloused, that the intruder inside him is familiar, welcome flesh and blood. Little trickles of his own blood run down his skin from the sharp barbs but he looks at Xander, thinking about the feel of that long hair as he runs his fingers through it. Thinking of the feel of that generous mouth against his skin.

This time, Greco hits Xander’s flank.

Spike rocks faster, and his hand is just a blur. Frantically, he paws at the cock ring, undoing the catch. It clanks loudly to the floor. He watches Xander sit upright. His face is ravaged, but he’s mouthing words too quietly for anyone but Spike to hear: _I love you_. _My darling_. _Always mine_.

So the next spray falls across Xander’s face again, and he screams and lifts his hands as his eye—oh, no, not his fucking eye!—sizzles horribly.

He doesn’t stop. He pulls savagely at himself, remembering the feel of Xander under him in bed, his strong muscles contracting and loosening, his beautiful face flushed, his mouth open and panting, his broad chest heaving. And then he can’t see Xander at all because tears are blurring his vision, but still he doesn’t stop, and just as Greco’s lifting his arm again, Spike comes hard and painfully, squirting himself with his own dead seed.

The humans hoot and clap. Xander blinks mournfully at him, tears running out of his undamaged eye as well. Greco smiles at Spike and tucks the pistol under one arm. A bit of metal and leather is dangling from two of his fingers, and he waves it in front of Spike. He’s seen this before, or one very like it, in Omaha. It’s a gag that keeps his mouth open extremely wide.

“How about you show my buds what that mouth of yours is good for?”

Spike glares at him, but Greco’s unimpressed. He keeps on grinning. “One tiny little touch of a tooth, and I’m gonna empty my water pistol up your pal’s ass. Understand?”

Spike nods.

“Uh-uh. You remember how to answer properly, don’t you?”

Spike whispers, “Yes, Master.”

“What was that? Didn’t hear you.”

“Yes, Master!”

The men laugh, and Greco tosses the gag to Jacobs. “Put this on it and you can go first, dude.”

 

The next day, Greco hacks off Spike’s right hand.

After Walsh and her entourage leave, it’s silent in the room. Although Spike was given some blood to help seal the wound on his arm, Xander hasn’t been fed since they were given the tubs of cow’s blood. He doesn’t complain, but Spike knows he must be in a great deal of pain from the holy water burns.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yeah, pet?”

“What are you thinking?”

“Can’t tie my Docs any more.”

“I’ll tie ‘em for you. Like I did when I bought you that pair. Remember?”

“Of course.”

Spike’s nose itches. Even if he had hands he wouldn’t be able to scratch it because his arms are strapped tightly to the table. Still, knowing he couldn’t scratch even if he were free somehow makes it worse.

His left hand is back on his chest, looking pretty much the same as it had when it was attached. He’d never given thought to what happens to amputated vampire parts. Do they just hang around, undecayed, until the vamp dusts? Greco has waggishly placed the right hand palm-down over Spike’s cock. Burris had snorted laughter so heartily over that that he nearly choked.

“Xan? Are you crying?”

“Sorry.” Xander sniffs.

“’S all right. Want me to sing this time?”

“Yeah, please.”

Spike thinks for a moment, then a song comes to him. He has no idea how he knows it, but the melody and lyrics are clear in his head.

 

** _Here's adieu to all judges and juries,_ ** ** _   
_ ** ** _Justice and Old Bailey too;_ ** ** _   
_ ** ** _Seven years you've transported my true love,_ ** ** _   
_ ** ** _Seven years he's transported I know._ ** ** **

** _How hard is the place of confinement_ ** ** _   
_ ** ** _That keeps me from my heart's delight!_ ** ** _   
_ ** ** _Cold irons and chains all bound round me,_ ** ** _   
_ ** ** _And a plank for my pillow at night._ **

 

“What was that, Spike?”

“Demon lullaby, pet.”

 

Greco and the others return that night, staring coldly down at Spike’s bound body. Greco has the water pistol again, and at first Spike hopes that he’s merely going to use it to spray Spike.

No such luck, though.

Jacobs and Burris unstrap him and then throw him face-down onto the floor. They quickly and efficiently bind his elbows together, then chain a spreader bar between his ankles. The bar keeps his feet three feet apart. Burris uses his collar to pull him to his knees, and Jacobs stuffs a gag in his mouth. It’s the one they’d used the night before when they fucked his mouth.

The men grab him beneath his arms and drag him until he’s quite close to Xander’s cage. Xander is huddled in the corner, his arms around his drawn-up knees and his eyes looking daggers at the men.

The fucking machine is gone. It’s been replaced by a heavy wooden crate. Greco seats himself on the crate as if it were his throne. The water pistol is dangling from one of the fingers of his right hand.

“Kneel, Seventeen,” he says coolly.

Spike finds himself struggling into the old, familiar position. The cement floor is as cold and hard against his knees as ever.

“Bow.”

When Spike hesitates, Greco nonchalantly sprays a stream of water at Xander, hitting his shins and hands. Xander cries out and presses back against the bars. Spike drops his forehead to the floor, raising his arse, inhaling the scents of ancient blood and shit and dirt.

One of the men slaps his arse playfully and he jerks a little in response. The man laughs.

“Wanna make a little extra money?” Greco asks.

The men hoot in anticipation as Spike is dragged on his knees until he is only inches from Greco. Greco smirks down at him. “I remember what you like, little vampire. Do you? Burris, you got that thing set up yet?”

Spike looks over and sees that Burris is arranging a video camera atop a tripod. The camera is pointing at Greco.

Two of the men lift Spike and drape him across Greco’s lap. They position him carefully so that his head is low, his arse is high, and his cock hangs down between the man’s knees. Greco ghosts his big hand over Spike’s cheeks, barely grazing the skin.

“You’re gonna be a star, Seventeen. How do you like that? A lot of people will pay big money to see a vampire get its bottom heated. We’re gonna put you on the internet.”

He presses his palm in a little harder.

“Did you try this, One?” he says, his hand never stopping. “Did it beg you to punish it when it was naughty, like it did for me?”

“You’re a sick bastard,” Xander growls.

Greco laughs and sprays him again. Spike can’t see where the water hits, but he can hear the sizzle of Xander’s flesh.

“That’s funny!” Greco says. “The vampire is calling me sick.”

He calls to Jacobs. “Here. Take this. Squirt the monster in the cage if this one acts up.”

Now that both his hands are free, Greco starts lightly slapping Spike’s cheeks with one of them. With the other he reaches under Spike and grasps his cock and strokes. The two hands move in rhythm, and, despite Spike’s best efforts to remain limp, he soon feels himself harden under the practiced handling.

The slapping becomes harder and Spike feels his flesh begin to warm.

He doesn’t want Xander to see this. He hopes Xander has looked away, has closed his eyes, but the rage he can smell pouring off of him tells him that Xander is fully aware of what’s happening.

Greco hits harder and faster, alternating between Spike’s cheeks. The sound of skin on skin echoes loudly around the room, as does the whining, panting sound that Spike can’t stop from escaping his throat.

Greco abandons Spike’s cock now. But his cock is rigid and dripping, the head red and enflamed-looking. It jerks slightly with every contact of Greco’s hard hand. And when Greco runs the side of his other hand up and down Spike’s crack, pressing in hard and then lightly stroking the sensitive skin behind his bollocks, a large spurt of precome splashes out onto the floor underneath them.

The other men are gathered in close now, although Greco warns them not to block the camera or Xander’s view. He smells their stinking breath—some of them have had onions for dinner—and, even over the sound of Greco’s beating, hears the swish of the blood in their veins and through their hearts.

Spike tries to remain still under the assault, but it’s hurting badly right now and he wants to flinch away. At the same time, though, a part of him wants to move back, to meet the swinging hand, and the knowledge of this fills him with bitter shame.

Abruptly, Greco shoves a long, wide finger into Spike’s sore hole. Spike jerks so violently at this that he nearly falls forward onto his head. But Greco shifts his legs enough to catch him, then he repositions him as before.

“See, guys?” Greco says, his finger plunging in and out in sync with his bruising slaps. “I think a vamp looks pretty with a little color in its cheeks. Don’t you agree?”

The men laugh in appreciation.

If Spike could speak, he’d ask Greco how he can reconcile statements like this with the fact that he’s apparently willingly waiting to be turned into a vampire himself. But, then, logic doesn’t seem to figure very grandly in any of this business.

“Is it crying yet? It usually cries when I do this.”

One of the men leans down to stare at Spike’s face. “Yep,” he chortles. “Tears and snot all over its face. Poor baby.”

Spike hadn’t even noticed.

“The thing is, though, dudes, look at its dick. It can’t get enough of this.”

He’s right. His cock is twitching, moving hungrily in response to every movement of Greco’s hands. One good stroke would probably finish him off right now, and Spike shifts a bit, trying to get some friction against the man’s lap. Of course, Greco won’t let him, though. He only hits harder, then adds a second finger to the first. He crooks them, deliberately brushing over Spike’s prostate with every rough thrust.

Xander is whispering something, so quietly the humans probably can’t hear. Spike strains his ears.

“Sweetheart. I love you. I’m sorry, honey. I love you. You’re so strong, baby. I love you….”

It’s a nonsensical sort of crooning, but Spike focuses on it, preferring it by far to the sound of his body being invaded again or the crude jokes and harsh laughter of the men.

“Gonna be over soon, baby. My strong, brave sweetheart. I love you. I love you so much….”

And the slaps come hard and fast and the fingers move quickly in and out, and he’s pretty sure that there are three inside him now, and his bollocks are drawn up tightly against him, and his cock is demanding release, and the men laugh and laugh, and he just tries to listen to the words, the tiny, scratchy words, the sweet voice of his Xander, and with an unearthly howl he comes, his cold seed splattering onto the floor, his abused inner passage clamping and releasing the plundering fingers.

Greco withdraws his digits and then gradually slows his spanking. Spike’s head hangs low. His chest heaves and rattles.

Spike closes his eyes and doesn’t open them as the men drag his limp and unresisting body back to the table. The remove the spreader bar and the gag, and they unbind his elbows. He flops back onto the table as they chain him down again. Greco carefully replaces the severed hands, one on his chest and one on his crotch, and then the men slowly walk away, bantering good naturedly among themselves about whose turn it is to go for coffee. They slam and lock the door behind themselves.

“Spike?” Xander says.

But this time, Spike doesn’t answer. He can’t. For once, he’s glad not to be able to turn his head and see the look in Xander’s eyes.

 

It’s two days before Walsh comes again.

The ache in Spike’s arms is maddening. It feels like his fists are clenched tight, but of course he can plainly see his pale, lifeless hand perched on his sternum, and feel the weight of the other on his groin.

Walsh is wearing a green blouse today, and her navy coat has been replaced by a beige blazer. Must be spring, Spike thinks. He’d caught a whiff of new growth the last few times the door had opened.

“This is so stupid, One. Just say the word, and I’ll stop this nonsense with Seventeen. You’ll have a good feed, and then you can have Seventeen back.”

“And then what?” Xander’s voice is hoarse and cracked. “You’ll let us ride off into the sunset?”

“Then perhaps you can assist Greco in our search for suitable additional subjects.”

“And Spike?”

“Seventeen is not suitable.”

“Hear that, Spike? You’re not suitable.”

Spike sighs. He’s just so…tired. So very tired.

“You’re wasting a great deal of my time, One.”

Xander says nothing.

Walsh approaches the table and shakes her head. “This is ridiculous. Go ahead, Greco.”

Spike expects Greco to start on one of his ankles.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he pushes the detached hand to the floor and roughly wraps his big fist around the base of Spike’s cock and bollocks.

Xander yells, “Don’t!”

Walsh puts up a hand to halt Greco. Greco lowers the hand with the knife, but doesn’t let go of Spike.

“Have you changed your mind, One?”

“Don’t. Please don’t do that. God…hurt me instead. Do anything you want to me. Leave him alone, please.”

“Have you changed your mind?”

Xander is sobbing. Quietly as a summer breeze, Spike whispers, “Don’t, pet. It’s okay. Don’t let her win.”

“I’ll ask you one final time, _have you changed your mind_?”

Xander breathes deeply. Then, loudly, “No, you crazy, sadistic sack of shit.”

Walsh nods to Greco.

The pain is…unimaginable.

Spike screams himself hoarse, and then cries. Great, heaving wails tear from his throat.

Greco shoves the hand off his chest and drops the severed organs in its place. Jacobs pours some blood down his unwilling throat.

And to the sound of Xander’s desperate chanting—“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry….”—Spike finally, mercifully, passes out.

 

[Chapter 9](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/13932.html#cutid1)


	13. 9 Forgetting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;  for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)   for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 9: Forgetting**_  
**Chapter Title:** 9 Forgetting   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;  for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)   for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

We're just about halfway done. Today's chapter is shorter and much less physically intense than the last. But I think things will get pretty exciting today and tomorrow.

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)  
---  
  
      “This isn’t working.”

_No shit, Sherlock_, is what Xander might have said. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t even look at her.

He looks instead at Spike, who has been lying motionless and silent on the table for a day. Whose tattered groin, clearly exposed between the legs strapped into the stirrups, has nearly healed to a blank and scarless smoothness. Whose brutally detached penis and testicles rest bloodlessly on his pale, still chest.

“I had assumed that the sexual instincts of a vampire would be more powerful. Perhaps…perhaps it’s because you were infected only recently.” She touches her pen to her chin thoughtfully. “We might have to track this…. Well, in any case, it’s time right now for something else. I’m going to have to think about it a bit, though.”

She sighs and looks at Greco. “I have some ideas we can explore.”

He doesn’t look happy, but he nods. “Want me to dust Seventeen, then?”

If Xander’s heart were still beating, it might have lurched in his chest at that. As it is, he groans quietly and buries his head in his hands.

But Walsh says, “No. It might still have some use. Go ahead and put it in the cage.”

Xander’s not even sure whether he’s relieved or disappointed at this. Maybe both. For Christ’s sake, hasn’t Spike endured enough already?

He says nothing, though, as Greco and Jacobs unstrap Spike from the table. His amputated organs fall the floor, unheeded, and they drag his limp body to the cage. They hobble his feet, but are at somewhat of a loss what to do about his arms. Finally, Greco says “Fuck it,” and just kicks Spike inside, locking the opening behind him.

They leave.

Spike is sprawled on his stomach, one leg bent awkwardly beneath him. If Xander stretches his fingers, he can just barely brush them against Spike’s foot. He considers attempting to wake him, then decides against it. Let Spike escape this place however he can.

Xander leans sideways against the bars that separate him from Spike and tries not to think. With his hunger increasing rapidly, his mind’s not very clear anyway.

After some measureless time, Spike stirs and softly moans.

“Baby?” Xander whispers.

Excruciatingly slowly, Spike shifts himself around until he’s curled in a ball on his side. His face is close enough that Xander can stroke sections of his brow with his fingertips. Spike moans again and laboriously lifts his eyelids.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Xander says, and he can’t help it. A wracking sob escapes from him.

“Don’…don’,” Spike slurs. “You’ll…get me goin’…‘gain.”

Horrific as it is, Xander knows it isn’t this latest injury that’s causing Spike’s weakness. He suspects it’s…everything. What he’s gone through in the past couple of years, it’s just too much for anyone to bear, even a strong vampire.

With great effort, Xander swallows his cries. He rubs an index finger along Spike’s scar. Spike blinks blearily at him, and Xander shifts so that he’s on his side, too, his face separated from Spike’s only by the bars.

“Xan?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Do you know…what happens to vamps when…they dust? Have you read that…in your demon books?”

Xander sighs. “Most of the books say they…we…we go to hell.”

“Think hell’s worse than this?”

“Can’t be—no Maggie Walsh.”

“You won’t go. You’re a good man.”

“You were a good man, too, Spike. Now…you’re a good vampire.”

Spike shakes his head a tiny bit. “No…no good.”

Xander wants to argue, but instead he moves his head a little and discovers he can lick the tip of Spike’s nose.

“Pet, I can’t…I can’t do this much longer. Can’t—“

“I know. I know.”

“Won’t leave you.”

“Spike.…” He doesn’t know how to respond. Doesn’t know anything anymore. So he tries for a distraction.

“Did I ever tell you about the time I joined the swim team?”

 

It’s been a long time since either of them have spoken. Days, maybe. Xander watches the skin stretch around Spike’s skull and knows he must look even worse. Not only has it been longer since he fed, but his face is still burned. He’s become used to having only one functional eye—there’s nothing to look at except Spike anyway. He certainly doesn’t want to see the body parts that are scattered on the floor near the table.

He notices Spike scrunching up his nose occasionally, and he scratches it for him. Spike blinks gratefully.

Finally, Spike speaks, his deep voice scratchy and faint. “Xan? You sorry you ever set eyes on me?”

Xander is shocked. “Jesus, no. No! Why would you think that?” His own voice doesn’t sound so great either.

“Just…without me you’d still be—“

“Fucking miserable, Spike. I was fucking miserable without you. And even though we only had a few months…they were worth it.”

“Worth this?” Spike gestures weakly around the room with one of his stumps.

Xander seriously thinks about this. Would he trade his short time with Spike for a return to his unhappy, lonely life? No, he wouldn’t.

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

 

The red fog has nearly engulfed him.

Walsh has forgotten them. Or got herself committed. Or….

So hungry.

They stare into one another’s dull eyes and sink away.

Then the door crashes open, and Walsh enters, all bustle and purpose. Her men chase along behind her lugging boxes and piles of equipment, which they dump near the exam table.

One of the men—Xander doesn’t know or care which one—joins Walsh as she stands beside the cages. “Go ahead,” she says.

The man bends down and—oh, fuck. Smells like blood. Xander sees Spike’s nostrils flare as well, and a tiny spark returns to his eyes.

Xander rolls around, and there’s a big plastic tub beside his cage. There’s a red and white straw sticking out of it. But—

He turns his back on it.

“Aren’t you hungry, One?”

“Him, too.”

There’s that awful fucking laugh. “How noble of you. All right, then, go ahead and give some to Seventeen, too.”

Xander watches as the man places another tub in front of the adjacent cage. Walsh scowls at him. “Now, how is it going to get the straw with no fingers?” The man moves the tip of Spike’s straw into his cage while Walsh rolls her eyes. “Honestly, if you people would just stop and think sometimes!”

She looks at Xander and says, “Go ahead and feed, and then we’ll talk.”

He pulls himself to his knees. He grasps at the straw and pulls desperately at the thick liquid. It’s pig’s blood. He doesn’t care. Spike’s able to maneuver himself upright, too, and the sound of Spike swallowing is as sweet to him as the taste of food.

Soon enough—too soon, really—the container is empty. Xander feels stronger already, though, and some of the burns and other small scrapes begin to heal. It’s a strange feeling, kind of ticklish but not unpleasant.

He looks up at Walsh, who’s wandered over to the other humans and is directing them in setting up some equipment. But she probably notices that the greedy slurping noises have stopped, because she walks back to the cages.

“I suppose it would be foolish of me to ask whether you’re ready to infect Greco.”

He says nothing.

“Yes, I thought so. You know, I’ve been considering this problem for some time now. I almost decided to just destroy you and be done with it. I can find another appropriate subject.” She cocks her head at him. “Is that what you’d prefer, One?”

“Bite me, bitch,” he mumbles.

“Ah, yes, more of the sparkling repartee. And aren’t you the one who’s supposed to be doing the biting?”

She starts pacing in front of the cages. Oh, shit. He’s seen this before. She’s in lecture mode.

“So I considered destroying you. Or doing as Greco suggested and forcing you to comply. But then I had another interesting idea. Something else I’d like to try.

“Do you remember when you came to Omaha for the demonstration? Seventeen gave quite a performance, didn’t it?”

He growls at her. So does Spike. But she ignores them.

“If you recall, I told you that it took several attempts to find the best way to train vampires. Initially, the control chips were too weak. Seventeen helped demonstrate that as well, in fact. So in the next generation of testing, we used chips that were much, much stronger. But that wasn’t completely satisfactory either.”

Xander shudders at this, thinking of what Spike had told him about his encounter with Angel. Spike must be thinking the same thing, because he lets out a whimper, so quiet only Xander could hear it.

“So then we settled on a chip that gave moderate punishments.”

Xander remembers Spike writhing and screaming when the chip fired. That was moderate?

“But the chip was only a part of the project, and really, not a very important one. We could have had nearly the same results with simple collars like the ones you have now. No, the real key to success—and it _was_ succeeding, until you sabotaged it—was something else.

“The key was the wipe.”

Oh, no.

Oh, God.

Xander has a crystal clear picture of where this is going. And so does Spike, who vamps out and roars at her, bashing his body uselessly against the cage door.

“When the procedure is completed, you won’t remember why you were being so uncooperative. You won’t remember anything, in fact, except that you’re hungry and Greco would make a nice meal.”

Xander is shaking. He feels like a coward, but he can’t control it. He’s terrified.

“You sick bitch! Don’t you do that to Xander! Don’t you destroy him! He’s a better person than you could dream of being.”

Spike is as furious as Xander has ever seen him. Maimed, desexed, collared, and caged, he still is frightening enough that the men by the table stop what they’re doing to stare. And Walsh takes an involuntary step backward. Xander can scent her fear, and it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever smelled.

Spike lets flow a string of curses that would impress the most hardened sailor. “I promise you,” he snarls. “I will fucking make you suffer….”

“Oh, a promise from a captive vampire. How terrifying.” Walsh tries for sarcastic, but can’t hide the thread of distress. She turns her back and clicks over to the table, studiously ignoring Spike.

Spike turns to Xander. “Xan. Oh, fuck, Xan. No.” He tries futilely to reach through the bars. “She can’t—can’t let her….Please, pet!” He’s so distraught he can’t choke out more than a word or two at a time, and he’s scraping bloody spots on his arms as they beat against the cage.

“Spike, stop, stop! You’re hurting yourself.”

Spike collapses in a heap, head hanging. “I can’t—can’t—can’t—“

Xander tries to hold himself together for Spike’s sake, but it’s hard. It’s so goddamn hard.

Spike looks up at him with despairing yellow eyes. “Do it, Xan,” he whispers urgently. “Tell her you’ll turn the bastard.”

But Xander shakes his head. He keeps his voice too low for the humans to hear. “I can’t, honey. I just…I can’t. Even if I give in, she’ll still do whatever she wants. She’ll still butcher you. She’ll still wipe me. We can’t stop her. This is the only way I can fight.”

He wills Spike to understand. It’s not even just Walsh he’s resisting now. It’s every monster who’s tried to beat him down, every twisted whim of fate that has buffeted him in one direction or another. He can’t change being born on the Hellmouth to crappy parents, or losing loved ones to death, or having to watch helplessly as his beloved is raped and tortured, or being murdered and picking up yet another demon to inhabit his body. But he can refuse to give in willingly. He can make a choice.

Spike’s face has reverted to human form and tears are coursing down his cheeks. It makes Xander ill to see such a strong creature so defeated. “Spike? I’m gonna fight the wipe, too. I don’t know if it’ll do any good. Maybe the crew in my head can help. The Chimera said I could call on them.”

Spike shakes his head, though. He doesn’t believe that fighting will do any good. And honestly, neither does Xander. But he has to try. And then Xander makes a promise he knows he won’t be able to keep. “Sweetheart, no matter what she does to me, to us, I’ll still love you.”

Spike merely looks at him with haunted eyes and then looks away.

 

It takes a long time for the men to set up the equipment. Not that Xander’s in any hurry.

Eventually, though, the humans walk over to the cages. Greco points the Taser at Xander, who tries not to flinch. As soon as he’s immobilized, he’s dragged out of the cage and across the floor. As they lift him onto the table, he notes with horror that it’s still caked with Spike’s blood. So much blood.

They strap him down tightly. Metal shackles bite into his wrists and ankles. Thick pieces of leather buckle around his chest and hips and knees. His feet are in the stirrups, his knees widely spread. A metal band holds his head in place. He wonders how many hours Spike has spent in this exposed and helpless position.

As soon as he can move again, he pulls and struggles against his bonds, but naturally that gets him nowhere.

He wishes he could see Spike, but all that’s in his view is the high, dusty ceiling and a bright shop light that the men have rigged overhead. He can hear Spike’s ragged breathing, though, and smell his distress.

There’s a buzzing noise and he tenses slightly, until he realizes that it’s a razor. One of the men—Burris—shaves his head. As the cold air hits his scalp, he wonders what he looks like bald. At least it would save him from having to comb his hair without the assistance of a reflection. He remembers how naked and vulnerable Spike had looked when his skull was bare.

He’s trying to be brave, he really is. But he knows he’s trembling, that his own breaths are as uneven as Spike’s.

Walsh wheels a little cart next to him. There’s a laptop on it, and some kind of electronic monitor. Then there’s an odd feeling on his scalp, and he realizes that she’s sticking electrodes onto him.

“It’s very interesting,” she says as she works. “The brain patterns of vampires are quite similar to those of humans. A few significant differences, of course, but not as many as you might assume.”

She steps back from his head and over to the cart, then pushes several buttons. “This can’t be right,” she mutters. She turns and adjusts some of the electrodes, then goes back to her machines.

But after a few minutes of fiddling and mumbling, she looks down at Xander and scowls at him. “Your brain patterns are abnormal.”

Oookay. And what’s he supposed to do about it?

“There are a number of irregularities here, and—dammit, I wish I had my old equipment!” Walsh is cursing and showing emotion. She’s definitely losing her cool. Good.

Greco says, “Maybe there’s something wrong with the monitor?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it!” she snaps back. “I’ve already tested it several times, remember? The problem is with this vampire. It’s—defective.”

He’s been called worse before, he supposes. Does this mean she’ll just give up and dust him?

She puts her hand to her chin and spends several minutes staring at the floor, lost in contemplation. Finally, she looks up again. “This is an unfortunate complication, but let’s go ahead with the procedure in any case. It still might work.”

Xander tries to keep his face blank as the men push several IV stands near to the table. A variety of fluids of different colors hang on the stands. Walsh pushes needles into him—into both wrists below the shackles, into the crooks of his arms, and one needle goes into the big artery in his groin. One of Spike’s favorite places to bite him.

Jacobs releases Xander’s head long enough to shove a thick piece of metal between Xander’s teeth and buckles it behind his head. This gag is like a horse’s bit. It doesn’t stretch his mouth as wide as the ball, and any noises he makes will be less muffled. Maybe that’s the point. Jacobs binds his head again.

Walsh has regained her composure and now she smiles down at Xander. She softly strokes his face. He wishes he could bite her.

“When we’re finished with this procedure, you’re going to infect Greco. And then you know what’s going to happen? I’m going to let you use Seventeen sexually—I think you’ll still be interested in him, even without the penis and testicles, yes? And then you’re going to destroy him.”

Spike is keening in his cage, desolately chanting, “Please no, please no, please no….”

Walsh walks over to the computer and presses some keys.

It’s very quiet in the room. Soft rain is pattering on the roof overhead. If he strains his ears, he thinks he can hear water falling from the trees that are just across the parking lot. Inside, the humans’ lungs fill and deflate, their hearts thump, the blood pulses through their bodies. Spike’s whispered, wretched droning continues. The liquids in the IV bags drip through the tubing and into his veins.

At first, he feels nothing.

An ant crawls up his thigh, onto his belly, up— There’s another ant. And another.

Wait—they’re in him, not on him. And there’s a parade of them, traveling from just below the crease in his leg, up his torso, into his head. Tickling. Itching. He twitches.

And the parade gets bigger, faster. And—fire ants. They’re fire ants, and they’re stinging him as they go. Biting and stinging at his veins, and it feels now like acid is flowing through him. Like holy water.

He tries to remain silent, but he begins to whimper into the gag.

It’s not ants at all, he knows. It’s the drugs, whatever shit Walsh is pumping into him.

His grits his teeth against the bit, not wanting to give the humans the satisfaction of hearing him cry out. Not wanting to aggrieve Spike any further by making him listen to Xander’s pain.

The bones in his face start to shift, slowly and sluggishly. It’s not the painless process he experiences when he voluntarily vamps out. This is being forced upon him, like a rape, and his bones and muscles and skin and tendons are protesting every bit of the change. He feels his fangs drop. His senses sharpen.

And suddenly he’s remembering his eighth birthday. Two years earlier, his father had sworn that since Xander hadn’t appreciated the clown they’d hired for his party, his parents would never spend their money again on a celebration for him. And they hadn’t. The day he turned eight, his mother was too stoned to remember his birthday, and his father didn’t say a word. Willow remembered, though. At lunch at school that day, she gave him a Hostess cupcake she’d bought with her own allowance, and a drawing she’d done of Superxan. He’d kept that drawing a long time. He wonders now what happened to it. He…the memory is fading away. It’s—what was he thinking of?

Junior year of high school. Making out in the school closet with Cordelia. The astonishing feel of her soft breasts under his hands. The scent of her expensive perfume. The way she’d insult him, stinging him with comments that always hit too close to home, and then, before he could craft an appropriate comeback, she’d press her lips against his. If he was lucky, and she was in a good mood, she would…uh…would…. What?

Two years after he left the Army, and he’d recently moved to Portland. He hadn’t bought the bungalow yet; he rented a dumpy little place on 11th and Columbia. He’d had a run-in with a couple of vamps early in the evening, mere fledges, really. And after he’d easily dusted them, he’d felt too keyed up to sleep. So he’d gone running, jogging aimlessly through downtown and up into the hills. Once a cop had stopped him—what was he doing running down the street at this hour of the night?—but had driven off after Xander had shown his ID. When he was too tired to run any more, he walked. But he kept on moving, getting himself good and lost and not caring, not wanting to stop. And finally, just as he reached the crest of a hill, he’d seen the first rays of the sun start to appear, and….

He starts to cry, silently, as one by one, memories appear and then disappear forever.

Eventually, Walsh looks at her watch and says, “Enough for today. If we overdo it we risk affecting the semantic and procedural memory. I have no desire to have to teach it how to speak and walk.”

One of the men—Xander doesn’t know if he ever knew his name—asks, “How long will it take, Professor?”

“Usually, six or seven treatments. Seventeen took more, as it is quite an old vampire. With One’s unique brain activity…I don’t know. We’ll have to see.”

She moves to the computer, and Xander hears the familiar sound of Windows shutting down. She yanks the electrodes off his head, and then pulls the needles out. Then she walks away. The door slams shut.

It’s nearly silent in the room now. Even the rain has stopped.

At long last, there’s a hesitant whisper: “…Xan?”

He grunts in reply, since the sons of bitches left the gag in his mouth.

“Xan, do you…remember me?”

He grunts again.

“Know where you are?”

Grunt.

He does remember perfectly who he is, and what, and what’s happening to him. But when he delves a little deeper into his head, looking for specific memories, he finds holes. An emptiness where something used to be. Like…he can’t recall the make of his first car. Or the last movie he’s seen. Or the name of his father’s brother. It’s like having a word on the tip of your tongue, only that word is never going to come to him.

Spike sings to him for a long time, his voice hushed and gravelly. Xander doesn’t recognize any of the songs, but that’s all right. He’s soothed anyway.

 

Walsh comes in the next day looking chipper and bright, smiling her ghastly smile. She and her men ignore Spike and march straight to Xander. They immediately begin hooking up the needles and wires, and soon the fire ants are marching again.

It seems like the memories are coming—and going—faster this time. There’s no particular order to them. Just one thing after another rapidly looming in front of him and then fading into the distance, like riding a high-speed train that only travels one direction.

By the time the humans leave again, he’s forgotten his middle and last names. He doesn’t know what state he grew up in, or his favorite foods, or his birth date. Can’t recall when he lost his virginity, whether he’s ever been on an airplane, what he does for a living.

But he remembers Spike. Whom he loves. Who’s singing to him again, and crying. Where is Spike? Why won’t he come closer, come hold him?

 

They keep coming. The people who hurt him. He doesn’t know why.

He’s in this place—he doesn’t know where—and he can’t move. And it’s cold. So cold all the time.

And he’s hungry.

He’s supposed to remember something. Something important. He can’t.

There’s a swarm of bees in his head, and they keep buzzing and buzzing at him. If they’d just stop, just for one minute, he could get his bearings. He would know who he is and what’s happening. But they won’t.

He wants to ask the people what’s going on, but he can’t talk. Something’s in his mouth. And the people just come and hurt him for a while and then go away.

But there’s someone else here. Someone who talks to him when he’s scared, who tells him stories that he says actually happened to them. But he can’t remember any of those events, and then the stories fade away, too. But the someone has a kind voice. He wishes he could see him. Maybe he’s not real? Maybe he lives in his head, like….

No. The man with the voice, he’s….someone he loves?

 

He’s lost. He is lost and he has lost…something. Everything.

A door.

He needs to find a door.

 

[Chapter 10](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/14204.html#cutid1)


	14. 10 The Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 10: The Door**_  
**Chapter Title:** 10 The Door   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

I'm posting a little early because I'm really kind of excited about this chapter. I want to know what you think! It's graphic right at the beginning, but I hope you'll find it's worth it.

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)  
---  
  
      Xander’s awake. He thinks. At least, the chocolate-colored eyes are open, even if they’re staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Even if Xander’s not reacting to Spike’s screams of pain.

It’s early morning. Just Jacobs and Burris. For no particular reason, other than boredom, probably, they’d shot Spike with the electric gun thing and then dragged him out of his cell.

They’d attached his ankle hobble onto a hook and hoisted him feet first, his head dangling two feet above the floor. They’d anchored his collar to another hook in the floor, so that he could only wriggle his torso a little. They’d tied his elbows tightly together behind his back, although his handless arms are bloody useless anyway. They’d shoved the ball gag back in his mouth.

They’d walked up very close to him, the stink of them filling his nostrils, and run their hands over his groin. Jacobs had trotted over and fetched the razor and they’d shaved him, so his groin is now as bare and sexless as Sam’s Ken doll. If there were any room left in him for humiliation, he expects this would be horribly degrading. But he doesn’t care what they do to him anymore. They’ve destroyed his Xander, and all that’s left in him is grief and despair.

His only remaining hope is that he has a chance to give Xander back his name before Xander dusts him, just as Angel gave him back his.

But even if he doesn’t care what happens to him now, he can’t help reflexively crying out in pain. So when Burris brings over a large stick and starts swinging it at Spike as if he’s a fucking piñata, Spike groans and yelps into the gag. His ribs are broken. Some of his internal organs feel like they’ve ruptured, but then they’re not doing him much good anyway. What does a vampire need with kidneys?

In a way, he’s lucky. His head is hanging too low to catch many blows. And if he hadn’t been castrated, his bollocks would be screaming in agony now. Lucky.

It still hurts, though, when the stick impacts with his chest, or when Burris starts in on his legs, shattering his kneecaps and the big bones in his thighs.

Xander just blinks blankly. _Good_, Spike thinks. _Might scare him to see_.

Then Jacobs approaches with a knife, the same dull knife that Greco had used to dismember him. “You know what I was thinking?” Jacobs says to Burris.

“Huh?”

“I was thinking this vampire is a real cunt. Ya know?”

Burris snorts with laughter.

Jacobs touches the blade lightly against the smooth skin between Spike’s legs. Spike tries to twist away, but Burris comes behind him and grasps his hips, holding him still.

Then Jacobs digs the knife in.

Blood drips down Spike’s torso and across his face, into his hair. He watches it puddle on the floor underneath him.

Burris lets go of him and the two men stand in front of him, looking thoughtfully at his new wound. Spike closes his eyes, but he can still smell them, still hear Burris’s crude laughter. And when Jacobs says, “I think the greedy cunt wants to get fucked,” he hears that, too.

And when one of them takes the stick Burris used to beat him, and thrusts it into the slit they’ve cut in his crotch, he feels that. The stick is pumped in and out a few times, and then suddenly plunged deep into his body, rending him as it goes.

Even with the gag in his mouth, his shriek is deafening. With the small part of his mind that can think beyond the agony, he prays that the man continues the wood all the way through, until it pierces his heart. Ends his torment.

And then there’s a sound, loud enough to hear even over his own screams.

It’s a roar like a lion. Like a pride of lions. Like a rushing train.

And then there’s a tremendous tearing and crashing and ripping noise.

And Xander is free of the table.

Jacobs and Burris stand rooted with shock as the powerful demon rushes up to them, eyes flashing. It tears the gag from its mouth and bares its teeth.

Xander leaps on Burris and, faster than the eye can follow, rips the man’s throat away. The body collapses to the ground, still gurgling and twitching. But Xander has already turned to Jacobs, who’s fumbling at his waist, likely trying to draw his gun. He never gets a chance. Xander is on top of him and in one move he twists the man’s neck with such force that his head ends up completely backwards. Xander drops his body to the floor and turns towards Spike.

It’s not Xander, though, is it?

Spike looks at the bloodstained fangs and the feral eyes and sees nothing of his beloved. He sees only a savage monster.

The creature steps closer to Spike and Spike looks up at it, hoping it finishes him quickly.

It reaches toward him, toward the tree branch that still impales him, and pulls it out. The removal hurts as much as the insertion, and Spike screams again. He almost passes out, but holds on to consciousness desperately. He wants to be awake for the end.

The beast looks at him calculatingly, from his bound feet to his hanging head. It places its palm against his belly and he waits for it to rip into him. But instead, it takes its hand away.

It bends down, gazing deep into Spike’s eyes, and still Spike sees nothing he recognizes. It grasps the chain that attaches his collar to the floor and heaves. The heavy chain snaps. Then it walks to the other chain, the one connected to the hook on which he hangs, and untwists the end of it from the support pillar where the men had wound it. And slowly it releases the chain, gently lowering Spike to the ground.

It walks back to him, and its gait is odd and shuffling, as if it’s not quite used to being bipedal. It crouches down again and buries its face in his neck. He braces for a bite that never comes. Instead, it inhales deeply and rubs its cheek against his.

It tries to unbuckle the gag, but doesn’t seem to have the dexterity. So it snarls and tugs at the fastener, breaking it. It pulls the gag out and flings it across the room.

“Xander?” Spike croaks. But sees no recognition in response. It looks at him thoughtfully for a moment, and then stands upright. It walks over to Jacobs, and effortlessly drags the body over to Spike. It maneuvers the body until it lies nearly across Spike, and holds its limp head up, offering Jacobs’s neck to him.

Spike allows his fangs to drop and he sinks them into the throat. Jacobs has only been dead a few minutes and his blood is still warm and delicious. Spike swallows greedily, even as the small movement aggravates his many injuries. Soon, the body is dry. Spike’s stomach feels wonderfully stuffed.

The Xander-beast tosses the husk aside, then drags Burris’s corpse over. He offers this one to Spike as well, but Spike turns his head away. He’s full enough for now.

The creature looks at him for a moment longer and then buries its face in Burris’s neck. _Not much blood left there_, Spike thinks, eying the puddles and splashes of gore that sprayed from the torn throat. But the creature isn’t so much drinking as it is chewing anyway, and that’s when Spike realizes what he’s looking at.

The hyena.

It raises its dripping red mouth from its meal and roars again, a sound that raises the hairs even on a vampire’s neck.

Christ, what if there are more of the humans outside? Xander—or what used to be Xander, anyway—needs to get out of here.

“Pet,” Spike says. “Pet, you need to go. Now.”

It looks at him uncomprehendingly.

When the hyena has finished feeding, it crawls over to where Spike still lies on his back on the floor. It’s quite a sight, nearly covered in old and new blood. But it’s gentle as it touches Spike, pawing softly at his body as if examining his injuries.

It kneels by his feet and snaps the hobble chain. But Spike’s legs are badly broken, and he won’t be walking anywhere.

The hyena sniffs at his ragged crotch and then howls, a heartrending sound. It carefully licks at the wound, making Spike shiver and hold his breath. The feeling of that tongue—Xander’s tongue—on his mutilated groin is surprisingly erotic.

Now the creature very carefully rolls Spike onto his side, stopping when he groans at the feeling of his broken ribs shifting. It snaps the ties that bind his arms.

It rolls him onto his back again, staring at him through yellow eyes. And perhaps it’s a stupid thing to do, because Spike has no idea what the creature’s motives or intentions are, but he brings his arms up and wraps them around its filthy neck.

It burrows against him, nuzzling against his neck. It bites at the collar a little, but can’t get it loose. No matter. It feels so good to have Xander’s body against him, even if Xander’s not home. He breathes in deeply, and the scent is still Xander, but now there’s demon there as well, and something else. Something animal.

The fresh blood is already doing its job and Spike’s feeling a little better. But how is he going to get the Xander-beast someplace safe? And—oh fuck, it’s still morning. Xander can’t go out in the sun.

Maybe he could hide in a back room? But how is he going to get the hyena to understand that?

“Xan, luv, you have to hide. Walsh—“

The beast pulls away from his arms and looks at him. Then there’s an odd shimmer to it, a shifting in the eyes. The scent changes. No longer animal. Now it’s human, almost.

“Who are you then?” Spike asks softly. It says nothing, but stands and walks over to the remains of Jacobs. It searches through his pockets, and then returns holding the gun.

Ah. “You’re the soldier?”

The Xan-demon nods.

“Can you speak?”

Shake.

“Do you have a name?”

Another shake.

“Look, Walsh and the rest of her lot will be here any time. You need to hide.”

Shake.

Spike looks at him for several moments. “You…you want to fight them, yeah?”

Nod.

“You know there’s four left?”

Nod.

Spike waves his useless arms a bit, then gestures towards his equally useless legs. “I’m no good to you now.”

Shake. Which is ambiguous at best, Spike thinks.

The soldier bends down and gently scoops Spike into his arms. He carries him toward the door.

“No! We can’t go out now, luv. We’ll fry.”

The soldier shakes his head and carefully places Spike on the floor to one side of the door. He walks to the other side of the door and crouches against the wall. Oh, Spike thinks. An ambush. But what bloody help will Spike be?

It’s silent. The soldier isn’t even breathing. Just waiting.

“Erm…luv? Is…is Xander still in there?”

The solider looks at Spike expressionlessly and nods his head. Spike sighs in relief.

There’s the sound of tires on gravel, then doors slamming. The soldier stands and tenses.

The first person to walk through the door is one of the blokes whose name Spike doesn’t know. He doesn’t see the vampires at first, but comes to a sudden halt as he spies the mangled exam table and the new bodies on the floor.

The soldier strikes. He grabs the man by his shoulders and heaves him onto Spike. Spike wraps his arms around him and quickly bites into his jugular. The man bucks and screeches but can’t get loose. As Spike struggles with him, the second man walks in. The soldier neatly and efficiently dispatches this one in the same manner as Jacobs, breaking his neck.

He drops the body just as Walsh and Greco enter, side by side.

Spike is too distracted by the weakening thrashes of the man he’s holding to have a very good view of what happens next. It looks like the soldier just tosses Walsh aside, where she stumbles to the floor.

Greco hits him in the face, hard, and thick blood bursts from his nose.

But the soldier still clutches the gun, and he points it at Greco and pulls the trigger. The dart shoots through Greco’s jacket and lands on his upper arm, and he goes stiff and crashes to the floor.

And as Walsh stumbles to her feet, yelling, Greco’s jacket bursts into flames.

Walsh runs to the table and picks up the knife, then rushes back towards the soldier with it. He lunges for her. She stabs him with the knife. She was probably going for his neck, but instead the knife ends up deeply imbedded in his chest.

He yells but doesn’t stop; instead, he grabs her arms and starts dragging her across the floor.

Greco’s screams are bloodcurdling, his burning limbs are flailing, and the smell of charring flesh becomes nearly overpowering.

The man in Spike’s arms is dead. He rolls the corpse away from himself.

Walsh is kicking and red-faced, shouting obscenities, but the soldier is implacable. He takes her to where Spike is still sprawled on the floor and thrusts her squirming body towards Spike.

Spike has already consumed a lot of blood, and he shakes his head.

The soldier crouches there for a moment, motionless, and then there’s that strange shimmer again.

This time there’s nothing remotely human about the new scent. It’s just demon. But…familiar. The Xan-thing howls and sinks its teeth into the woman’s throat.

She continues to yell and kick but it holds her fast. As her efforts begin to subside, though, the demon tears its head away from her neck. It brings one of its wrists to its own mouth, and Walsh tries to crawl away, but Spike holds her with his arms, ignoring her weak punches. The demon fastens its teeth on her neck again, but this time it shoves its bleeding wrist into her mouth.

And as Spike watches, she swallows once, twice, three times. And then her heart stops.

Maggie Walsh is dead.

The demon drags her body to the cages. It throws her inside of the one that had been Xander’s and locks the padlock. Only then does it pull out the knife that’s still buried in its sternum.

Gouts of blood bloom and run, but there’s plenty more to replace that. It crouches by the body of the man whose neck the soldier broke and it drinks deeply.

Greco’s screams have stopped and the blackened remains of his body are still.

When the demon has drained the body, it slams the door shut. Once again, Spike is carefully lifted by tender arms and he’s carried deeper in to the room. He’s placed on the ground.

Spike looks back toward the door. The fire that used to be Greco is out. All that’s left of the man are some charred bits of bone.

This demon sniffs Spike, too, small inhalations across his entire body. It stops at his groin and licks the healing wound, just as the hyena had. Spike moans, and it’s not a moan of pain. He wonders whether it’s still possible for him to come without his cock and bollocks.

When the demon has finished examining him, it shimmers again. The yellow eyes now are intelligent and tinged with humor. More demon scent.

“You okay, bro?” asks the Xan-demon.

“Are you the Chimera?” Spike asks.

The demon smiles broadly. “That’s me.”

“That demon that was just here….”

“Vampire. The demon part, anyway. That’s what you’d be like without the human part. Except you’d be a lot uglier.” And the Chimera chuckles.

Spike takes a deep breath. “Xander?”

Now the Chimera looks somber. “Still here, man. He’s...in the room now, you dig?”

Spike nods. “He…he told me about the room.”

“Yeah, it’s a pretty boss pad. But Xan…he’s not doing so good.”

Spike closes his eyes and breathes for several seconds. “What...what’s—“

“He doesn’t remember nothing, bro,” the Chimera says sadly. “Doesn’t know where he is, what’s going on. He’s lost.”

“I…I know what that’s like.”

“I know, man. Maybe you can help him.”

Spike swallows. “I’ll try.”

“Okay, then, bro. I’m gonna head home. I’ll send Xan out.”

“W-wait!” Spike cries. “What happened? How did you get free?”

The Chimera shakes his head. “That hyena—it’s really strong, you know? But Xan, he’d never let us all the way out. Sorta kept us on leashes. Which was cool and all, I mean, dude had to protect himself. But we couldn’t get out to help, either.”

“So….”

“When the wipe really kicked in, just before he got completely lost, he finally threw the door wide open. Let us free. He couldn’t have done it if he wasn’t almost gone, man.”

“And now, you’ll…you’ll just go back…back in.”

The Chimera nods. “Yeah. Told ya. We like it there. Long as Xan lets us out once in a while, we’re happy.”

“And why…why did you help me?”

The Chimera smiles and pats Spike’s shoulder. “You’re Xan’s, ain’t ya? Just like us. We look out for our own. ‘Sides, Xan’s our bro, and he loves you.”

Spike shakes his head. “Not…not anymore.”

The Chimera pats him again. “You might be surprised. See ya, Spike.”

This time the shimmer comes with a shift, and the face melts back into its familiar, human planes. Xander blinks at Spike in confusion, then scuttles several feet away.

“Who--? Where--?” He looks around him in panic, sees the scattered bodies and widely splattered blood, sees Walsh’s corpse in the cage. He backs away quickly, nearly tripping over one of Spike’s hands, and stands against the wall. His eyes are wide and he’s nearly hyperventilating.

Spike tries to sit up, but can only manage to prop himself on his elbows. Xander stares at him in horror, then looks down at himself. He sinks down onto his arse, hiding his head in his arms and sobbing.

“Xan…Xander…please. It’s okay. You’re all right, pet. You’re safe.”

Xander’s rocking himself, whimpering deep in his throat.

Spike doesn’t know what to do. He can’t get to Xander to comfort him, and he’s not at all sure that his closer presence would be comforting anyway. He knows what it’s like to wake up with no memories at all. But he can’t imagine that awakening occurring in the midst of a massacre, with a naked, mutilated, blood-soaked vampire in the room. Oh—Xan probably doesn’t even realize what either of them are.

He thinks about what the Chimera said. How can _he_ possibly help? He wants to scream in frustration, but that would only make things worse. He collapses onto his back.

He looks over at Xander again, and is surprised to find Xander sitting very still, staring at him through wide eyes.

“Did…did I hurt you?” Xander whispers.

Bloody hell.

“No, no, never. You saved me.”

Xander blinks at him. “I don’t…don’t remember.”

“I know, pet.”

“I think…I think I know you.”

Spike draws a shaky breath. “You do. My name…my name’s Spike.”

“Funny name.”

Spike shakes his head. “You don’t know the half of it.”

Xander has started to creep forward, very slowly, on his hands and knees. He occasionally looks fearfully around the room, but mostly he keeps his eyes riveted on Spike.

“Do…can you tell me my, my name?”

“Xander. Xander Harris.”

“That’s a funny name, too.”

Xander’s only about ten feet away now. He looks ready to run away at the slightest provocation. Spike longs to embrace him, and it takes all his will to stay still.

“Did….” Xander swallows loudly. “Did I k-kill these people?”

“Yeah, most of them.”

Xander tenses and appears ready to retreat to the wall again.

Spike says, “Xan, they were bad people. They hurt you. Took your memories.”

“They did this to you?” Xander waves his hand at Spike.

“Yeah. This and worse.”

“Why?”

Spike is silent for a few moments. “I dunno. It’s…it’s a long story.”

Xander looks around the room, then down at himself again. “How did I kill all these people?” he whispers.

Fuck. “Xan, you’re….” How do you break this to someone gently? “You’re a vampire, pet.”

Xander blinks at him. He reaches into his mouth and touches his blunt, human teeth.

“Luv, you have to change your face to have fangs. Just…will your face to shift.”

Xander frowns at him, then closes his eyes.

Spike watches the bones and skin remold themselves.

Xander’s eyes have gone wide again. This time when he reaches into his mouth, he pricks his finger on a fang. He looks at the blood for a second, then licks at it. He closes his eyes again and changes back.

When he opens them, he says in a shaky voice, “I’m a vampire.”

Well, he took that reasonably well.

“I’m a vampire and I killed humans. I’m…I’m evil.”

“No, pet, you’re not. You have a soul, see? And this lot—they were the evil ones.”

Xander creeps a little closer to Spike. Now he can almost touch him. He gazes at Spike for a while.

“You’re a vampire, too,” he announces finally.

“Yeah.”

“Do you have a soul?”

“No, Xan.”

“Then you’re evil?”

Spike looks up to the ceiling. “Not…not of late.”

Xander finally reaches out and lays a cold hand tentatively on Spike’s arm. “I don’t remember you.”

Spike blinks rapidly and looks away. He doesn’t say anything.

“But…but I think I love you.”

Spike’s head snaps back. Xander’s looking at him appraisingly. “You did, Xan. You loved me,” he says softly.

“And you…Spike?”

Spike’s crying again. Can’t bloody help it. “I’m yours. What’s left of me, leastways.”

Xander moves in very close, then lies down next to Spike. Presses against him. “Is this okay? I feel…feel safe like this.”

Spike chokes back a sob and finally gives in to the urge to throw his arms around Xander. Who doesn’t even know that Spike has never kept him safe at all.

“Do we live here?” Xander asks.

“No! God, no. We’ve…they’ve kept us prisoner here.”

“Do we have someplace else to go?”

Spike ponders this. How will Willow and the rest react to Xander’s being turned? Spike’s pretty sure they’ll still love him, just as he told Xander. But are they able to deal with the wipe? And what’s to happen with Spike’s useless self? Xan won’t want him anymore once he gets his friends around him, and Spike’s not in any condition to fend for himself. Not that he wants to. His Xan’s the only thing that made his existence worthwhile.

Spike sighs. He’ll help Xan get to safety and then he can go take a walk—well, a crawl—in the sun.

Now he just needs to figure how to get help.

Then he remembers. Maggie fucking Walsh. She’s going to rise from the dead.

“Xan?”

“Yes?”

“You see that dead bint in the cage?”

Xander gets up and walks hesitantly to the cage. He peers at the body. “Spike? I…I don’t like her. I….” Xander takes a closer look. His eyes flash gold for a moment. “I hate her, Spike. Who is she?”

“She’s the one that did all this to you. To me, too. And to…others. A lot of others.”

“And I killed her?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’m glad she’s dead.”

“Me, too, pet. But…but you didn’t just kill her, yeah? You made her a vampire.”

Xander looks at him quizzically.

“Why?”

“I dunno. I think....She hated vampires. Treated us as—not even monsters. As…things. Things for her to control, to fucking play with however she wanted. Turning her…that’s probably the worse thing that could’ve happened to her.”

Xander walks back to Spike and sits beside him. Absently, he runs his hand through Spike’s hair, just as he always has when one of them needs comforting.

“So what…what happens to her now?”

“Tonight she’s going to wake up and discover what you did to her, and she’s going to be very unhappy.”

“And then?”

“That’s up to you, luv.”

Xander looks at the cage for a long time, all the while carding Spike’s hair with his fingers. Finally, he sighs. “What do you want, Spike?”

“I want her to suffer. I promised her she would. But…I can’t really do much torturing here, Xan.” He holds up the stumps of his arms. “And I don’t know that I have the stomach to watch you do it, either.”

Xander nods. “Okay.”

“Let me think on it a bit?”

Xander nods again, and lies down next to Spike.

“I’m so tired,” he says. “And cold.”

“Can’t help the cold part. But we can rest now if you want.” Spike’s exhausted too. A good sleep will help heal him. They can decide what to do with Walsh when they wake, then go from there.

For now, in spite of everything, he’s content to be somewhere he never thought he’d be again—wrapped in Xander’s arms.

 

Spike wakes up while it’s still light out. Xander is sitting next to him, knees drawn up to his chest, watching him gravely.

“You look dead when you’re asleep,” he says.

“Am dead.”

Xander mulls this over a while. “Me too?”

Spike sighs and nods.

“How…how long have I been a vampire?”

“Just recently, pet. This lot,” he waves a stump toward the assorted corpses, “they murdered you. Had you turned.”

“Did they turn you too?”

Spike laughs a little. “No. I died over a century ago.”

Xander shakes his head, and Spike understands why. It’s all too much. Too confusing. Then he stands.

“I’m gonna…gonna look around, okay?”

“Sure.”

Xander gives the bodies a wide berth as he wanders around the room. When he comes to the small door that leads to the room where Spike was initially held, he sees that it’s slightly ajar. He opens it all the way and peeks through.

“I’m just gonna check this out for a few minutes. Be right back.”

Spike nods and Xander goes through the door.

It’s raining again, harder this time. Spike can see washes of water blow against the small windows. He fantasizes for a few minutes about taking a shower. Nice, hot shower. Or a bath. Washing off the grime and stink, finally getting warm. Then he remembers that someone else would have to soap and shampoo him, and he growls quietly. Useless git.

Xander returns a few minutes later with an untidy pile of fabric in his hands. He brings it over.

“There’s not much there. Just a couple of trashed offices and an empty room. And a bathroom. But I found this.”

This turns out to be a couple of old flannel shirts and a canvas tarp. Xander spreads the tarp out on the floor, then doubles it. He gingerly shifts Spike onto the fabric. It’s quite a bit more comfortable to have some protection from the cold concrete floor.

Then Xander helps Spike into one of the shirts, the blue one. The soft material feels good against his skin. Xander slips the red shirt on himself. They leave the shirts unbuttoned because Spike can’t do them up and Xander doesn’t remember how. “I could get some clothes off of the dead guys,” he says. “But ewww.”

That makes Spike smile a bit. “This is good, pet.”

Xander’s sitting beside Spike, again brushing his hair with his fingers. He’s staring blankly and expressionlessly at the opposite wall.

“Xan? You okay?”

Xander sighs. “It’s just…I have so many questions. I don’t even know where to start. It’s just, just so confusing!”

Spike pats Xander’s leg with his arm. “I know. The dead bitch—Walsh—she stole my memories, too.” Xander focuses sharply on him at this. “Was over a year ago now. You…you rescued me from her. Gave me…gave me everything.”

“Did you…did you get your memories back?” Xander’s voice is tiny as he asks this.

Spike gives a small shake of his head. “No. No, luv.”

Xander clenches his jaw and looks away.

“Look, luv. We’ll take care of Walsh and then get you home. You have some friends, they’ll help you out. They can answer all your questions.”

Xander’s frowning at him. “You won’t…. What about you?”

“I’ll just be in the way.”

“No.” Xander shakes his head. “I don’t remember these friends. I want you. You said you were mine!”

He’s upset now, almost panicky, and so Spike gives a short nod. “Okay. I can stay a while, yeah? Until you’re…settled.”

Xander doesn’t look completely satisfied with that response, but then the body in the cage begins to stir. Xander helps shift Spike around so he has a better view, and they watch as Walsh twitches and moans, then sits up with a scream.

The demon look isn’t much of an improvement on the lady, Spike thinks. Her usually-perfect hair is in disarray, her yellow eyes are gleaming, and one of her fangs has nicked her own lip. Walsh grabs the bars of her cage and shakes them, howling with rage.

Spike says, “Think you’ll find that that cage is vamp-proof, luv. But go ahead and give it a go.”

Walsh shouts incoherently for a while. When she takes her eyes off of Xander and Spike, though, and sees the bodies and the dried blood everywhere, she suddenly stills. Her eyes are wild.

Spike knows from his readings that new fledges wake up ravenous. Xander, of course, had fed on three of her men when he was first turned. Spike doesn’t know what his first meal was.

“How does it feel?” he asks her. “To be a monster? Not that you weren’t one before.” She glares at him, her eyes filled with bright hatred.

“Xan, can you do something for me?”

“Sure, Spike.”

“Go pick up that knife.” He motions toward the butcher knife, still on the floor where the Xander demon had thrown it after plucking it from his chest.

Xander rises gracefully to his feet and retrieves the weapon.

“Stand near the cage with it, luv.”

Xander does, and Walsh shrinks back a little.

“The thing is, Professor—or maybe I should call you Two?—the thing is, even though you’re a monster now, you still feel, don’t you? Still feel fear and anger and frustration and humiliation. Just like a human. And if I ask Xan to cut you now, you’ll feel pain, too.”

Xander brandishes the knife a little and she presses herself against the back of the cage. Then she snarls, “Let me out!” Her words are choked and slightly garbled.

Spike barks out a laugh. “Oh, that’ll never do. Maybe if you beg, call me Master.”

She snarls again.

“But even if you do beg, it won’t matter, will it? I’ll still do to you whatever I want. You’ll still be at the mercy of a creature who has no mercy.

“Feel that hunger in your belly? What do you think it would be like after a few weeks? After a twenty-eight fucking _months_?

“What should we do with you? Stick some plastic in your brain and make you do tricks? Rape you? Make you _beg_ to be raped? Hack off some of your favorite bits?”

He’s shouting now, and tears are streaming down his face. Xander’s watching him in horror, but he can’t stop. Walsh’s face is a mask of terror. “Think there’s enough juice left in your machine to wipe you, too? Should I make you crawl around on your sodding hands and knees and then chain you up in a stinking hole? Or maybe…maybe we find the one person you love…the one person who loves you…and destroy him in front of your eyes!”

Spike is sobbing now. Xander drops the knife and hurries over. He throws himself down next to Spike, draws Spike’s upper body into his lap, and wraps his arms around him. Spike wails helplessly into Xander’s cold chest, his tears leaving salty tracks in the dried blood and dirt.

He cries for what seems like days, until finally the anger has seeped away, and nothing’s left but weariness. Xander smoothes the hair away from his face. Bloody hell. Gets turned and wiped, and here he still is, taking care of Spike.

“What do you want me to do?” Xander whispers.

Spike has no taste today for torture. He just wants to get home. Home.

“Just…stake her with the branch, yeah?”

Walsh hisses. Xander carefully extricates himself from under Spike and finds the big stick. He sniffs and frowns at the end of it coated in Spike’s blood, then breaks off some of the other end, making a fairly sharp point.

Walsh is red-faced. She starts screaming: “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare hurt me, you vile thing! You’re nothing but a useless, violent piece of garbage! You can’t love! Nobody could love something like you—not even another monster, you stupid, stubborn….” Xander may have the makeshift stake, but it’s Spike she’s looking at. She begins screaming brokenly, spittle flying from between her fangs, her hands tearing at the bars of the cage.

Xander watches her for a moment, his head slightly cocked. “Go to hell,” he says succinctly, and thrusts the long stick through the bars.

Walsh screeches once more and then disappears in a shower of dust.

 

At Spike’s request, Xander opens the big double doors wide. There’s nothing outside but a pickup truck, an SUV, and the rain falling into the dark forest.

The keys to at least one of the vehicles are probably on one of the corpses. But neither of them is in any condition to drive. Spike remembers that it took him several weeks to regain his skills behind the wheel after he was wiped, and he assumes the same is true for Xander. In any case, neither of them fancies having Xander paw through the carcasses.

“Pet, maybe you could search the cars. See if there’s a mobile phone in one of them.”

Xander nods and ventures outside, head turned wonderingly up towards the sky despite the rain. Neither of them has been out of this building in weeks, and of course Xander doesn’t remember being outside at all. Spike stares at the ceiling and waits.

Xander returns shortly, dripping wet and smiling. There’s a small piece of plastic in his hand. He plops down on the tarp next to Spike and holds the phone out.

Spike waves his arms a bit. “You’re going to have to dial for me, pet.”

Xander nods gravely. Spike has to tell him how to work the thing. He remembers Xander showing him how to use a phone, too.

As Xander punches in the numbers, Spike thinks desperately about what he’s going to say. It’s not exactly an easy call to make.

Xander helps him lodge the phone between his ear and his shoulder. The other end engages.

“Hello?”

“Zilla?”

There’s a long, long pause.

Then, very quietly, “Spike?”

Spike has to choke back another bloody sob.

“Zilla…please come take us home.”

 

[Chapter 11](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/14856.html#cutid1)


	15. 11 Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)  for the beautiful art, and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;  for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 11: Home**_  
**Chapter Title:** 11 Home   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)  for the beautiful art, and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;  for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

Let's see how the boys are handling their trauma, shall we?

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)  
---  
  
Xander watches the trees rush by in the darkness. It reminds him of something, but he doesn’t know what.

The phone call had been brief. The vampire—his vampire, Spike—was clearly struggling to get the words out, and in the end he just gave directions and said he’d explain on the way home.

Home.

Wherever that is.

Spike told him that a friend was coming for them, but it would take him a while because he lives far away. The friend’s name is Todd, but Spike calls him Zilla. Xander wonders why, until Spike says that Todd’s a Stadnent demon. Oh. Xander remembers that. Lizardy types. Generally not very dangerous.

He realizes that he knows quite a bit about demons in general, not just Stadnents, and he wonders why. Wonders why, when he was still human, he had one for a friend, and a vampire for a lover. Surely that’s not normal.

He pets Spike’s head, which is in his lap. Spike’s sprawled as comfortably as possible across the backseat of Todd’s car. Todd had a big towel in his car and now it’s spread across Spike’s body like a blanket. It’s wonderfully warm in the car, and the seat is soft. It’s strange how he doesn’t remember Spike, and yet this feels so comfortable, so familiar. He can see Spike’s blue eyes glittering up at him through the dark and he tries to smile. He wants to cry, though, at what’s been done to the creature he somehow still loves.

At what’s been done to him.

Todd must have driven very quickly because he got to them sooner than Spike expected. He almost fainted when he walked in the door. His eyes flitted from the bloody corpses to the charred spot to Spike’s mutilated body to Xander’s filthy one. He had to hold the doorframe to support himself.

“Xander?” he’d whispered. “Spike?”

Todd looked human. He was young and handsome. His blond hair had a red streak in it and there was a ring in his nose. Xander didn’t recognize him at all and had to fight an urge to vamp out.

“Oi, Zilla,” Spike said. “’S all right. Come in.”

Todd crept inside, carefully skirting the bodies. “Are you…all right?” he’d asked, his voice wavering. But then he got close enough to get a good look at Spike and he’d gasped. “Oh, God! Spike!”

But it wasn’t until a moment later, when his attention focused on Xander, that he actually fell to his knees.

Spike, still unable to walk, held his arms out. “Zilla! Don’t—“

But Todd was staring at Xander, his face as pale as Spike’s and his mouth gaping open. “Xan…Xander?”

Xander looked down at himself. He was certainly a horrifying sight. Still nearly nude, and with what looked like weeks’ worth of blood and dirt and God knew what else plastered over his body. He supposed his face must look equally bad.

“Zilla, take a deep breath. Please. We need you to help us now. You can fall apart later.”

Todd looked at Spike in shock. “Spike, he’s…Xander’s…”

“I know,” Spike said quietly.

Todd said nothing for several minutes, just swaying a little on his knees and panting. Finally, though, he’d got up and walked slowly toward Xander. Xander had backed away.

“Zilla? Xan’s…confused now, yeah?”

“What did they do to you?” Todd rasped.

Xander just shook his head. He didn’t understand why his condition had upset the demon more than Spike’s.

But then maybe Spike figured out what was going on, because he said, “Pet? Zilla’s an empath. I think he’s figured out that you’re…like me, yeah?”

Todd whirled and looked at Spike. “Did you do it? Did you turn him?”

“No! Jesus, no. It was them,” he motioned at the bodies. “Initiative fuckers. They wiped him, too, Zilla.” And when Spike’s voice broke on this last sentence, Todd shook himself and took a calming breath.

“Okay. Okay,” he’d said. “You can…fill me in on the way home.”

Spike let his breath out and closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

Todd looked at Xander. “You’re not going to…try to eat me, are you?”

Xander said, “No, I’m not hungry,” and didn’t understand why Spike let out a snort of laughter.

“He’s still got a soul,” Spike said. “He’s still…himself. Or at least, he was until they wiped him.”

Todd straightened his shoulders and said, “Okay, then. Let’s go home”

So now they’re racing through the night, and Spike is telling Todd everything that happened. Todd says very little; he mostly just drives, making a noise of sadness or anger now and then at particular details. Xander supposes he should listen more carefully so he’ll know, too, what happened, but he finds it hard to concentrate. It’s all just too much.

“Uh, Spike,” Todd says at last. “You won’t…. Do vampires, uh, regenerate?”

“No.”

“Christ, Spike.”

Spike doesn’t answer.

“I’m so sorry. We looked for you—for both of you—for so long. We were still looking tonight. Willow just had a promising lead, in fact. We got a bunch of Walsh’s old notes from Omaha. So Willow put a tracer out on anyone buying certain combinations of chemicals. The ones Walsh used for…shit. For the wipe. And she had a hit about a week or so ago, and was trying to track down the buyer. Fuck. We were too late.”

“But you kept trying, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. We just couldn’t accept…couldn’t admit you might both be dead.”

Spike sighs. “But we are, Zilla.”

“God, Spike, Xan, I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault! If I’d told someone where I was going that night….”

“Did they kidnap you, too?”

Spike snorts. “No. Saved ‘em the trouble, didn’t I? Showed up right at their door.”

“How?”

“Dan. Xan’s boss. He rang with some information. It didn’t sound like a very good tip, but I had to go and check it out, didn’t I? Buggered things up really well.”

Xander has no idea what they’re talking about, so he just tries to soothe the vampire in his lap by small strokes of his fingertips.

Spike says, “Did you tell anyone I called?”

“No, not yet. I didn’t even really think—just jumped in the car. Anyway, Willow’s back in Boston, and Giles is probably sound asleep by now.”

“It’s early morning in London, innit?”

“Giles is here, Spike. At your house. He said he wouldn’t leave until we found those soldiers.” Todd pauses a second. “Those soldiers—“

“Dead. Walsh, too.”

Todd seems to relax a little in his seat. “Good,” he says. “Good riddance.”

 

Eventually they’re driving through a big city. Traffic is very light and most of the windows are dark, but Xander goggles a little at the tall buildings, wondering whether he’s been in them. They take a complicated sort of bridge over a gray river, and then they’re pulling to a stop in front of a small yellow house. Xander likes the look of it.

They sit silently in the car for a minute, then Todd says, “Uh…maybe I should call Giles and let him know we’re here. It might be kind of a shock if you just show up at the door.”

Spike agrees, and Todd pulls out his phone. He has to wait a long time before someone picks up. Xander and Spike listen to Todd’s side of the conversation.

“Hi, it’s Todd.”

“No, everything’s okay. It’s just—“

“No, she’s fine. But….Giles, I have Xander and Spike.”

“Right here, outside the house. Wait!”

“Just a second. I need to tell you first….”

“Not exactly. Spike’s hurt pretty bad. And Xander…oh fuck….”

“Um….Christ. Giles, Xander’s a vampire.”

“He didn’t do it. It was the Initiative.”

“Dead. All of them.”

“He’s…he still has his soul, Giles.”

“I don’t know. But there’s something else….”

“Yeah. They…they wiped him. Wiped Xander.”

“Okay, we’ll be right in.”

Todd hangs up the phone and sighs heavily. “I am _not_ going to be the one to tell Willow,” he mutters.

Todd gets out of the car and then opens Xander’s door. Xander pulls Spike out as carefully as he can, cradling him in his arms. He follows Todd up the stairs to the broad front porch.

A middle-aged man is waiting for them at the door. He’s wearing striped pajamas and a blue robe, and he has a bad case of bed-head. His face is pale and drawn.

He looks the vampires up and down, and his face becomes even whiter. “Dear Lord,” he says. Todd walks in the door and Xander tries to follow. But he bounces hard off an invisible barrier.

“He needs an invite,” says Spike, his tones clipped.

“But it’s his house!” exclaims Todd.

“Not any more. You inherited it when he died.”

“Dear Lord,” the older man says again.

Xander just stands at the door uncertainly.

Finally, the older man—Giles, he supposes, and is that the man’s first or last name?—says, “Please. Come in, Xander.”

Xander enters the house. He’s in a medium-sized room, with a couch and a chair and a tv. A big fireplace takes up a good part of one wall, and there’s a shelf full of old-looking books. The only window is covered in black fabric.

They stand in the room, looking at each other. Xander’s not sure he likes the way Giles is staring at him.

“What—“

“Just a second, Watcher. Can we give you the story in a bit? I’d like to get clean.”

Xander would, too. He’s sure these people don’t want him spreading his filth around this nice house.

“All right, yes,” Giles says. “I’ll go…put on some tea.”

“Think you’ll be wanting something stronger.”

Xander’s still standing with Spike in his arms. Spike looks up at him. “Look, let’s….How about if you go take a shower, yeah? Then I can have a bath.”

“I…I don’t know how.”

Todd says, “I’ll help. Spike, you want to go on the couch?”

Spike nods, and Xander lays him carefully on the brown leather. There’s a blanket thrown over the back of the couch, a soft, plushy white one, and Xander helps Spike tuck it around himself.

“Zilla? We still have clothes?”

“Of course, Spike. We haven’t…we haven’t gotten rid of any of your stuff.”

“Can you help Xan with that?” He remembers Xander having to show him how to get dressed.

“Sure.”

Xander is a little uncomfortable about leaving Spike, but Spike smiles at him and waves him away. So Xander follows him through a doorway, down a short hall, and into a bathroom. There are rubber ducks on the shower curtain. The window in here’s covered, too. There’s a large mirror, but he sees only Todd reflected in the glass.

Xander watches while Todd turns on the shower faucet. He slips off the red flannel shirt and, at Todd’s gesture, throws it on the floor. Then he steps into the tub.

The warm water feels like heaven. It’s the best thing he’s ever felt—at least that he can remember. Todd shows him how to soap himself, and the soap smells wonderful, too.

Todd fingers the collar around Xander’s neck. “I think we’ll need some tools to get this off, okay?” Xander shrugs. It’s not his concern right now.

“Guess you don’t need any shampoo,” Todd mumbles, and Xander puts his hands on his head. Just a little stubble.

He could stay in here for hours, but he’s anxious away from Spike. Todd turns off the water and helps him dry off. Xander looks down at himself and thinks how nice it is to be clean.

He follows Todd down the hall again, but this time they enter a bedroom. There’s a big bed with a red blanket on top and a nightstand on either side. There’s also a large dresser. Xander runs his hand over it. He can tell immediately that it’s well-made, and wonders how he knows that.

There are three pictures atop the dresser. One of them is of Spike, sitting on the couch, shirtless, laughing with a brown-haired man with a slightly bumpy nose and long scar down one side of his face. He puts his hand up to feel his own cheek. “Is that me?” he asks Todd.

Todd smiles. “Yeah, Xan.”

The second picture is of two demons. One of them is a Stadnent with a row of red spikes on his head. The other looks like a Brachen. “That’s me and my boyfriend, Pan. He’s in Sunnydale right now,” Todd says quietly.

The third picture shows two women and two young children, a girl and a boy. One of the women and both kids have red hair. The other has dark brown. “And them?” he asks.

“Willow,” Todd says, pointing to the red-head. “You’ve known her since you were five. And that’s her partner, Jen, and their kids. They live in Boston.”

Xander doesn’t recognize any of the faces. Not even his own.

Todd opens some drawers in the dresser and pulls out some clothing. Xander’s embarrassed to have a total stranger help him get dressed, but he is glad to be wearing soft, warm clothes.

“How about if we get the tub ready for Spike, okay?”

They head back to the bathroom, where Xander watches again while Todd draws a hot bath. When they go to the living room, Giles is there, a cup of tea in his hand, deep in conversation with Spike.

Spike smiles at him as he enters. “Feel better, pet?”

Xander nods. He does.

“Your bath’s ready, Spike.”

Spike stares angrily at the stumps of his arms. “Xan? You think you could help me out?”

Xander responds by scooping Spike back into his arms. Todd pulls the blanket off and throws it on the couch.

“Spike, I’m afraid there’s no blood in the house. We’ll have to get you some in the morning.”

“That’s okay, Watcher. Already ate today. But…you’ll have to double the order now, yeah?”

Giles takes off his glasses and begins cleaning them. “Yes. Yes, of course,” he says unhappily.

“Zilla, why don’t you finish telling the story while I get cleaned up?”

“Sure, Spike,” Todd says, and sits on the couch. Giles sits on the chair, and then Xander carries Spike into the bathroom. Awkwardly, he helps him off with the shirt, which joins the red one on the floor. Then he lowers him gingerly into the tub. Spike sighs happily.

“Xan…I know you don’t remember me, but is it all right if you bathe me?”

“I don’t mind,” Xander says, and begins tenderly rubbing the soap over the battered chest. This feels familiar, too. Spike doesn’t say anything, though he occasionally lets a moan escape when Xander inadvertently hits a particularly sore spot. Xander carefully washes around the collar as well.

Xander frowns as he cleans Spike’s arms. The parts where the hands once were are smooth and scarless, as if there were never any hands there at all. “Does it hurt?” he asks, and Spike shakes his head.

He finishes the arms and cleans Spike’s belly, digging encrusted crud out of his belly button and rubbing his hand over the ridged muscles. He feels his cock starting to get hard and that embarrasses him until he realizes he can smell the other vampire’s arousal as well.

But when his hand drops a little lower, to Spike’s denuded groin, Spike tightens his jaw and turns away. Xander understands. A faint mark from the wound there is still visible.

He’s especially careful cleaning the slightly crooked legs and swollen knees. “Gonna have to have the bloody splints again,” complains Spike.

By now the water is filthy, and Spike instructs him on how to empty the tub. Soon he’s refilled it with more steaming water.

Spike leans forward so Xander can scrub his back, and Xander finds himself admiring the lean muscles and fine skin.

“Spike?”

“Yeah, pet?”

“We…we were lovers?”

Spike gives a tiny nod.

“For how long?”

“About a year. I was….Walsh and her lot had me prisoner. You took me away from them, brought me here. Shared your bed. Gave me…gave me everything, pet.”

Xander has an ache in his chest, about where his unbeating heart lies. An ache that comes from loss, from losing all that he’d shared with this vampire.

Spike tells Xander how to shampoo his hair, and they’re just rinsing when there’s a knock at the open door. It’s Giles.

“Todd has gone home for a while. He’s exhausted. He’ll return early this afternoon, though, if that’s all right. I could do with a bit more sleep myself. I’ve put fresh linens on your bed. When I get up, I shall find you some blood.”

“Ta, Watcher.”

Giles pauses. “Willow will need to be notified.”

“Yeah. I’ll…I’ll ring her later. Could do with a bit of a kip myself.”

Giles starts to walk away, then stops. “Xander, Spike. It’s good to have you back.” His voice is harsh and choked. Then he leaves.

“Xan, you tired?”

Xander’s exhausted, actually. Not so much physically as mentally. He thinks his brain needs some down-time to deal.

“Can you bring me to the couch?”

That confuses Xander. “I thought you said we share a bed?”

Spike swallows. “We did. But…I thought you might not—“

“Please. I don’t want to be by myself.”

Spike nods a little shakily. Xander drains the tub again, and dries him with a big yellow towel. Then he carries him into the bedroom and lays him on the bed, which has been turned down. Xander thinks for a minute and then, with only a little difficulty, strips off his clothes. He climbs in beside Spike.

Spike is holding the red blanket to his face, inhaling deeply. Then he collapses back into the pillows and looks at Xander. Xander scoots a little closer to him. He feels best when he’s touching Spike in some way, as if Spike is his anchor. Spike rolls on his side and when Xander nestles up against his back, Spike molds himself even more firmly against him. Xander falls asleep thinking that this feels right.

 

**

 

The bedside clock says 12:13 pm when he wakes up. Spike is still pressed against him.

He gazes at his sleeping companion. He’s beautiful. Honey-colored curls, laser-cut cheekbones, full lower lip. Asleep, he looks vulnerable and a little delicate, not at all how Xander would assume a vampire would look.

Xander tries to ignore the erection that’s now snug against Spike’s firm ass. Surely a creature as damaged as Spike isn’t interested in….

Spike’s eyes open and he blinks up at Xander. “Morning,” he says in that deep voice. That voice which Xander suddenly realizes is incredibly sexy.

Well, at least there’s no question that he’s gay.

“Morning,” Xander says. “I’m…uh…sorry,” he says, pulling slightly away from Spike.

Spike sighs. “It’s how you usually wake me up. It’s nice.”

Xander watches him for a while. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do. Finally, Spike blinks again and rolls onto his back. “Let’s get up. Got some business to attend to.”

Xander pulls on his clothes, this time almost easily. At Spike’s direction, he finds a black t-shirt and some black sweats for Spike, and he helps him dress. “These sodding things again,” Spike mutters as Xander pulls the pants carefully over his legs.

Xander carries Spike into the living room. Spike points out the kitchen, and Xander goes in there. It’s a nice room, cozy, with red cabinets and a black counter. The table is small but also well-made. Giles is sitting at the table, drinking some tea and reading a stack of papers. He looks up when Xander enters.

“Oh, good afternoon, Xander.”

Xander nods awkwardly.

“I’ve brought you…erm...some blood. Would you like some?”

He is feeling a little hungry. “Yes, please. And for Spike, too.”

“Yes, of course.” Giles stands and walks to the fridge, where he pulls out two plastic bags full of red fluid. Xander licks his lips at the sight of them, and Giles flinches slightly. But then he pours them into two big mugs and sticks the mugs in the microwave. He hands the warm cups to Xander.

Xander carries them into the other room, frowning at their decorations. One says _The Right Tool for the Job_ and the other says _Orgasm Donor_. There’s something about them….

Spike snarls angrily at the mug, and Xander holds it for him as he drinks. Only when Spike is finished does he sip at his own.

Giles comes into the room carrying two long plastic things. “Would you like these, Spike? They’ll keep your legs from healing crookedly.”

Spike looks surprised. “You bought me braces, Watcher?”

“Yes, well, it will be good for you to get back on your feet soon.”

The splints strap on right over Spike’s pants legs. Giles shows Xander how to take them on and off. “How long will you need them, Spike?”

“Last time, had them splinted nearly a week. But they’re not as badly broken this time, so maybe less.” Last time? Did Spike make a habit of busting his legs?

Spike smiles sunnily at Giles, the first time Xander has seen him look really happy. Giles cleans his glasses. Then he sits on the chair and looks seriously towards the two of them on the couch.

“Do you want me to stay for a while longer?”

Xander has no opinion about this. The man seems friendly enough, but…. “Yeah, for a bit, Watcher. I’m not much good to Xan, and—“

“I very much doubt that, Spike,” says Giles, and Spike looks at him quizzically, then looks at Xander.

“Yeah, well. Probably ought to call the witch, yeah?” The witch?

Giles nods. “I’ll bring you the phone.”

Spike looks grim as Giles dials for him. The man tucks the phone behind the vampire’s ear. Again, Xander listens in to one side of the conversation.

“Red?”

“No, this isn’t a joke. It’s really me.”

“It’s a really long story, luv.”

“I’m…I’ve been better. But that’s not why I called.”

“He’s here.”

“Sitting on the couch next to me.”

“It was. But our boy—he busted us free.”

“No—wait, wait, luv. I have to tell you something.”

“No, your mojo was fine.”

“Because Xander, he…he’s….Fuck. He’s a vampire, Red. Walsh had him turned.”

“Red, Red…it’s…he still has his soul, okay? He’s not a monster.”

“No, no bloody curse. Just…it’s complicated. But he’s still a white hat, okay?”

“He’s dealing with the vamp bit. He’s strong like that, you know?” Spike glances at Xander as he says this, and smiles a little. God, Xander really likes that smile.

“I don’t…. No, it’s not that. Of course he’s not mad at you! Don’t be daft…. God, Red, she wiped him. That bitch Walsh wiped him.”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Okay, but…. Okay, hang on.”

Spike looks at Xander. “She wants to talk to you.”

“Who?”

“It’s Willow.”

“The red-head in the picture?”

Spike sighs. “Yeah, her.”

Xander pries the phone from under Spike’s ear. He hasn’t used a phone yet, but he’s watched enough by now to get the idea. “Hello?” he says.

The voice at the other end is breathless and teary. “Xander? Xander, is that you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, goddess, Xan! Spike said….How are you? I missed you so much and I was so worried and then there was the locator spell, and….Xan, how do you feel?”

“I…I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

There’s silence on the other end, and he’s about to hand the phone to Giles when the woman says, “Xander?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember me? Willow?”

“No.” He hears a sob at the other end. “I’m…I’m sorry. I don’t remember anything.”

The only answer is more crying. Xander stares at the phone, uncertain about what to do, and then Giles gently takes it from him. “Willow,” he says. “Listen to me.” And then he takes the phone into the kitchen. Xander could still listen in with his vampire hearing, he supposes, but he doesn’t bother. Instead, he looks at Spike, who’s lying now with his legs across Xander’s lap.

“Xan? Do you want to look at the rest of the house?”

It hadn’t occurred to Xander to do so, but now that Spike’s mentioned it, he would. But he doesn’t want to leave Spike. Spike pats his shoulder. “It’s all right. I’ll be right here. Can’t bloody go anywhere anyway, can I?”

Maybe Spike is tired of Xander clinging to him. Xander gets up carefully, not wanting to disturb Spike’s legs too much. With a quick look back at Spike, he heads for the hallway. There’s only one room left there, a small, sparsely furnished bedroom with stacks of books all over the floor. He heads back through the living room, then up the stairs. The large space up there is unfinished, with half-framed walls and exposed wiring.

He runs his hand over a beam, and realizes that he knows this. He knows how to build. He could finish these walls if he wanted to.

He goes back downstairs. As he’d promised, Spike is still on the couch. “There’s a garage, too, where you have your workshop. You’ll have to wait for dark to have a look at that, though.”

“Did I build things, Spike?”

“Yeah, pet. You’re a carpenter. Made a lot of the furniture in this house.”

Xander sits back on the couch, once again placing Spike’s legs over him. “What else…what else did I do?”

“Well…you liked to watch footie on the telly, and you never wanted to have the remote, and—“

Xander can tell from the sparkle in Spike’s eyes that he’s teasing. “Spike?”

“You like science fiction. And you like to run and eat junk food and listen to horrible music. And sometimes you get in the mood to go dancing. And in your spare time, you hunt demons, luv.”

“But, but…I’m…you’re…_you’re_ a demon.”

“I’ve been harmless for a while. You hunt the nasty ones.”

Xander’s head’s hurting. Who knew that vampires could get headaches? Spike must have noticed something was wrong because he smiles and points to the remote, which is on the little table next to Xander. With a few minutes of instruction, Xander’s able to operate the thing, and he enjoys flipping through the channels quickly for a while.

Giles comes back in the room holding a couple of tools in his hand. “I thought perhaps you’d like to remove the collars.”

Both of them nod at that. Xander takes a small bolt cutter from Giles—hey, he does know tools—and cautiously uses it to free Spike’s neck. Then Giles does the same for him. While Giles goes to throw the collars away and put away the tools, Xander impulsively leans over and kisses the chafed mark around Spike’s neck. Spike looks startled at this, but to Xander, it feels oddly familiar.

 

Todd arrives a little later. He sits with them in the living room, chatting comfortably. He tells them he’s notified his boyfriend Pan of their arrival, and Pan will fly up tomorrow.

Giles informs them that Willow plans to fly out as soon as possible. Spike doesn’t look very pleased about that. “It’s just going to upset her when Xan doesn’t know her, and then that’ll upset Xan, and—“

“Spike. I agree. I tried to persuade her to a wait a bit, until Xander is a little more…settled. But she can be extremely stubborn when she sets her mind to something.”

“Xan, you going to be okay with Red here?”

Xander shrugs. It doesn’t matter that much to him who’s around, as long as Spike’s near.

Giles gets up and brings back some tea. Xander takes a sip of Spike’s and makes a face. It tastes awful. Spike chuckles a little. “You didn’t like tea even before, pet.”

Xander leans against the back of the couch. Spike’s head is in his lap, and his feet are in Todd’s. Xander’s not sure how comfortable he is with the Stadnent touching his vampire, but he doesn’t say anything because Spike seems relaxed. Maybe Spike and Todd were lovers, too.

Giles puts down his teacup and looks towards them. “I have a few more questions, if I may.”

“Shoot, Watcher.”

“You said it was Drusilla who…turned Xander?”

Spike nods and Xander frowns at him. Who’s Drusilla?

“Do you know what happened to her?”

“No. Xan said he never saw her after he rose. I guess we should have asked Walsh. I was a little…distracted.”

“Do you suppose Walsh destroyed her?”

Spike sighs. “Yeah, most likely.” He finally notices Xander’s frown. “Pet, Drusilla was my sire, too. I don’t remember her, either.”

Giles is tapping on the arm of his chair. “Spike, how did you manage to attack your captors?”

“Wasn’t me. Xan broke free from the table where they’d strapped him down. Was bloody brilliant.”

“Yes, but why didn’t he break free earlier?”

“He couldn’t. Those chains were vamp-proof. I know. Had ‘em used on me plenty of times.”

Xander thinks of the mangled remains of the exam table, and now he, too is curious how he got free. The table had been practically torn apart.

“If they were vampire-proof, how did Xander break them?”

Spike sets his jaw and looks away a moment, then he sighs and gazes at Xander. “It wasn’t a vamp that broke out, Watcher. It was a hyena.”

Xander doesn’t know what the hell Spike’s talking about, but Giles looks shocked. “A…a hyena? Do you mean—“

“Yeah.” Spike is still staring at him. “Might as well tell all of you at once. Xan’s got a hyena demon tucked away in his head. Possessed him years ago, he said.”

What the hell? “But I’m a vampire!”

Spike tongues at his teeth. “Yeah, pet, but it turns out you have a crowd in your head. Vamp demon. Hyena. Got a soldier in there, too.”

Xander and Giles both say at the same time, “Soldier?”

Spike nods. “Something left over from a Halloween prank.”

Giles rolls his eyes. “Oh, good Lord. Ethan Rayne.”

Spike nods again. “But they’re all latecomers. Seems you’ve got a Chimera stuffed in there as well.”

Giles stands abruptly at this. “A Chimera?! Are you sure, Spike?”

“Talked to him myself, Watcher. He told me that’s how Xan kept his soul when he was turned—the rest of that lot held fast to it.”

For about the millionth time in the last 24 hours, Xander’s head is spinning. “Are you saying that I have a whole demon convention in me?”

“Do you feel them, luv?”

Xander thinks hard. There is something…sort of a little tickling in his brain. It’s not unpleasant. It’s almost like someone’s speaking too softly for him to hear. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

“You keep them all sort of locked up most of the time.”

Giles says, thoughtfully, “Like Angelus.”

“No, not quite. The Chimera says they’re happy in there. Xan’s head is a nice place, I guess. And he lets them out sometimes…when he fights.”

Xander’s wondering if he’s the world’s biggest freak.

Spike is looking at Todd with narrowed eyes, though. Todd’s staring busily at the tv, which isn’t on. “Zilla? You don’t seem very surprised by this.”

Todd looks sheepish. “Yeah, uh…I kinda knew about the demons. Except the vamp, of course—that one’s new.”

“How long, Zilla?”

“Since…since Xander and I went to Sunnydale. When we were down in that base…I could feel it wasn’t just Xan, you know?”

“Bloody hell, Zilla! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Well, Xan was pretty distracted for a while.”

“Putting me back together. Again,” Spike mutters.

“Yeah. And then…I don’t know. I was afraid it might…unsettle him. Unsettle both of you.”

Spike shakes his head. “Next time, sharing would be nice, empath.”

“Okay. I’m sorry,” Todd sighs.

And Spike shrugs. “No matter now.”

Xander’s been waiting to break in. “What the hell’s a Chimera? And how did I get possessed by a hyena and a soldier?”

It takes a long time for Giles and Spike to explain. Xander drinks two mugs of blood while he listens. Todd brings him a beer, which he discovers he likes, and he drinks that, too. He certainly led an eventful life. Too bad he won’t remember any of it.

Eventually, Todd says he has a class to get to and he leaves. He smiles warmly at Xander as he goes, and Xander tries to smile back.

Giles mumbles something about Chimeras and wanders off to bury his head in some books. Spike closes his eyes and seems to enjoy the feeling of Xander’s fingers in his hair.

“Spike? What are we going to do now?”

Spike opens his eyes and looks at him gravely. “Up to you, pet. Zilla and Pan and Willow—they’ll help you get back on your feet. You’ve got plenty of dosh to last a while. You can settle back into your old life, pretty much, if you like. Just more nocturnal.”

“But what about you?”

“You don’t need me. Your friends…they can help you. I’m just…taking up space.” Spike grits his teeth and looks away.

Xander’s shaken by this. It’s not just that he’d feel completely at sea without Spike. It’s also…Jesus, Spike finds him such an abomination now that he’d rather take his chances in the world without hands than stay with Xander.

Well, he can’t let Spike risk himself just to get out of Xander’s clutches.

“Look, Spike. Please…please stay. We don’t have to…. We can just be friends, okay?”

Spike nods without looking at him.

 

He wakes up to find his cock pushing insistently against Spike’s ass again. Damnit. The thing clearly has a mind of its own…and it _is_ a mighty fine ass. He stays very still, not even breathing, enjoying the feel of that smooth skin against him. He wonders what it feels like to bury himself inside. He doesn’t remember. Now he sighs quietly to himself. He supposes he’ll never know.

Spike whimpers in his sleep and pushes back against him. His eyes are flickering behind his closed lids. Xander hopes it’s a good dream.

Dream. That reminds him of…something. He doesn’t know what. It’s a mystery, just like the rest of his fucking life. Er, existence.

Spike whimpers again and his lids fly open. He stares at Xander for a moment, his eyes unfocused, before he blinks a few times and lets out a deep breath. “Pet,” he whispers.

Xander smiles at him.

Spike frowns and quickly rolls forward, away from Xander. Xander’s about to apologize again for his hard-on when Spike disappears beneath the covers. A second later, a cold, wet suction is enveloping his cock.

Jesus Christ!

It feels so good he cries out, and then muffles himself with his arm. He doesn’t particularly want Giles coming running in here.

Spike slowly moves his mouth up and down Xander’s rigid shaft, almost letting the head fall out of his mouth, brushing the very tip of it with his soft lips, and then gradually sinking back down.

He doesn’t seem to be in any hurry.

It’s driving Xander crazy.

He doesn’t remember having sex. His body seems to remember, though, and it knows what to do. He begins to gently thrust his hips upwards to meet that tight goodness. His hands worm their way under the covers and find the bobbing head. He grasps a handful of curls in each fist and bites so hard at his lips that they bleed.

At the taste of blood—even though it’s his own—he loses control a little and vamps out. And then—holy, fuck—everything is so much more _intense_. Not just the tongue and throat that are caressing him, but the soft glide of the sheets on his skin and the weight of Spike across his legs. The quiet sounds of sucking and slurping and slipping. The smell of Spike’s clean body and vanilla soap and arousal and the curry Giles had brought for dinner—which Xander found he liked very much—and, very, very faintly, someone else. Another vampire, he thinks.

He groans and his hips begin pistoning harder and faster, and Spike’s head under his hands moves quicker. His balls feel heavy and tingly. He feels like he can’t catch his breath, even though he knows he doesn’t have to. And then Spike _swallows_, and forgetting about Giles, forgetting about everything except how fucking good this feels, Xander yells, “God, Spike, yes!” and feels a volcano erupt in his groin.

Spike keeps on softly sucking, nursing, as Xander’s movements slow. With a final slurp, Spike releases him. A second later, his head appears above the covers again, his hair impossibly wild and sexy and his eyes glittering. His lips are swollen and red, and Xander wants to draw them into his mouth. But as he reaches for Spike, Spike sits up and turns away, his plastic-encased legs hanging awkwardly over the edge of the bed.

“Want to watch some telly,” Spike mutters.

“But…but you—“

Spike twists his head around and glares at him. “Made myself useful. Now, will you carry me in or do I have to bleeding crawl?”

 

[Chapter 12a](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/15348.html#cutid1)


	16. 12a If Wishes Were Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful art, and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 12a: If Wishes Were Horses**_  
**Chapter Title:** 12a If Wishes Were Horses   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful art, and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

Posting way early today because it's Valentine's Day, and it's a longish chapter, and there's a surprise. &lt;g&gt;

****This chapter is in 2 parts.**   
**

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)  
---  
  
      The watcher gives him a sour look. He ignores it. Not his bloody fault the boy is noisy. And it’s not like he’s molesting him. Xander had an active libido as a human. Now he really needs to get off, and Spike’s the only one around who can help with that right now. He just wishes….

Never mind. Doesn’t matter what he wishes.

Xander’s glum too, and who could blame him? Stuck with Spike to nurse again, stuck with Spike as the only slightly familiar thing in a confusing world, stuck with Spike.

Maybe he’ll feel more comfortable soon with Giles and Todd and Pan. And Willow, who will be arriving any minute now.

Giles takes his glasses off, rubs his eyes, and takes the blood-crusted mugs from the end table.

Pan and Todd are curled up on the floor together, sitting on the cushions from the ruined chair. Ha. Good thing Xander doesn’t remember there used to be two chairs here—he’d be none too pleased at Spike’s destructive fit, either.

Xander’s been watching, fascinated, as the demons switch back and forth from their human guises to their greener looks. And they’ve been watching him shift, too. It’s like some sort of demonic party game, but Spike’s not playing. Everybody already knows what he looks like with fangs, and he’s not going to pretend to be the formidable creature he’s not. That he hasn’t been since…since he can remember.

When the doorbell rings, Xander goes very still, except for his hands, which clutch tightly at the plastic on Spike’s legs. Giles answers the door.

Willow flings herself inside. She dumps her bags on the floor, gives the watcher a quick arm around the shoulders, and waves hello at the duo on the floor. Then she’s throwing herself toward the couch, not noticing the way Xander is bracing himself against the seat back.

“Xander! Oh, goddess, Xander! I’m so happy to see you again.”

She leans over Spike’s legs to wrap Xander in a smothering hug. Xander accepts the hug stiffly, and Spike can tell it’s taking some effort for him not to growl at the perceived stranger.

“Xan, you look really great! Not that it’s a surprising that a vampire would look great, because there’s lots of handsome ones, like Spike of course, and now you. And you were handsome before, too, and….” She trails off to silence, perhaps noticing the way Xander is desperately looking toward Spike for help.

Her attention finally falls on the other vampire on the couch. “Spike! Your legs again! And what happ—Oh! Oh, no, Spike!” She’s just noticed his arms. Guess the watcher didn’t fill her in on Spike’s condition, then.

Now Spike is the one being overwhelmed by warm, soft breasts and the scents of cinnamon gum and magic.

Finally, Willow pulls away, and then collapses to sit on the floor in front of the couch. She frowns at Xander. “How are you doing, Xan?” she asks.

“I’m, uh…okay. I guess.”

“You haven’t remembered anything at all?”

Xander starts to shake his head, then stops. “Sometimes, it’s like I almost do. Like it’s so close I could just about reach it, but not quite.”

This is interesting. Spike wonders if maybe Walsh hadn’t quite had the time to finish the wipe, or perhaps Xander’s “abnormal” brain patterns had fouled things up a bit.

“Xan, when we were…looking for you, we got a bunch of Walsh’s old notes sent to us from Omaha. Mostly handwritten stuff, stuff she’d never uploaded into the main Initiative files.”

Xander looks utterly confused at this, so Spike explains. “Pet, Omaha’s where Walsh and her lot had their headquarters before you shut them down. And Red here’s a computer whiz.”

“Omaha? Is that where…is that where they…held you, Spike?”

Spike nods. He’s told Xander some about what had happened to him, mostly because Xander seemed a little broody over the carnage he’d orchestrated. Spike had wanted Xander to understand how much those fucks had deserved what happened to them, and worse. Xander had gone grim-faced over the tale, though, and Spike mentally kicked himself for rubbing his own debased state into Xander’s face like that.

Now, Xander frowns at the reminder. But Willow carries on.

“So a lot of her notes had to do with the…the wipe. They were a lot more detailed than the official ones I saw last year.” Those are the ones she’d looked at when Xander had returned Spike from Sunnydale. She’d concluded then that what Walsh had told General Shales was true—the wipe is irreversible.

Todd says, “You found something, didn’t you?” Must be handy being an empath.

Willow smiles a little. “Yes, I know how she did it, what drugs she used—we were tracking those drugs just this week, Xan—and what the computer protocols were. And I’m not sure it’s as permanent as she thought.”

Xander and Spike both sharpen their interest at that, but it’s Giles, who’s sitting on the chair again, who says, “Why not, Willow?”

“She assumed that the procedure actually destroyed the parts of the brain where the memories were stored. Zapped the neurons, you know? And when the tissue grew back, it was blank and new.”

Giles is nodding. “Yes, I’ve seen the Army’s reports and that’s precisely what they say.”

“But I think they’re wrong. I think that all that happens is the memories get sort of…lost. Hard to access. It’s like when someone deletes files from their computer and they think they’re gone but then someone who knows what they’re doing can still dig around and hey presto! Child pornography. Or…something.”

Xander looks at Spike, but Spike can only shrug. He doesn’t know what she’s talking about either.

Giles seems to understand, though, and he’s leaning forward, suddenly very animated. “So you think it might be possible to find these memories and make them accessible again?”

But now Willow deflates. “Yes. But…there’s a catch.”

Of course. Always a bloody catch.

“To…uncover the memories, you’d have to…have to redamage the brain. And I’m not sure how well a vampire brain would heal after being injured like that twice.”

Giles sighs and looks at Spike. “Yes. Even vampire regeneration has its limits.”

Spike looks away.

Todd and Pan have moved closer as Willow spoke, and now Todd says, “Isn’t there any way to help vamps heal better?”

Willow shrugs. Demon medicine is outside her purview.

Unexpectedly, then, it’s Xander who speaks. “Sire’s blood,” he says.

Everybody looks at him.

“I beg your pardon?” Giles says.

“Sire’s blood. It’s like vampire penicillin. I…I seem to know a lot about demons.”

“Good Lord, he’s right,” Giles says thoughtfully. “Willow, do you remember when Spike used Angel’s blood to cure Drusilla?”

Xander looks at Spike curiously. Spike read about this in the watchers’ diaries—it’s what kept him in Sunnydale the first time, apparently. And it had worked, according to the diaries. Drusilla had got better.

But there’s the rub. “How are we going to get Xander’s sire’s blood?”

Todd says, “You don’t even know if Drusilla is still alive, do you?”

“Undead,” Spike mutters automatically, and Todd rolls his eyes.

Willow looks sad. “And…and if she is, uh, still undead, we have no way to find her. We already know the locator spell won’t work for vampires.” And she makes a lopsided little attempt at a grin at Xander as she says this, trying to soften the blow.

“It wouldn’t have to be Drusilla, would it?” Xander says. “Anyone in our line would do. Drusilla’s sire?”

Spike huffs out a breath, as if he’s been struck in the stomach. “That was Angel, and I dusted him last year.” Xander frowns at him. “Didn’t know who he was then, luv, and didn’t have any choice. I was…we were both the Initiative’s prisoners then.” Xander’s expression softens.

Spike goes on. “And Angel’s sire, Darla, Angel dusted her. And _her_ sire, you had a hand in dusting him, Xan. There’s nobody else.”

Willow shakes her head. “We can’t risk fixing you two without it. I won’t risk it. You’re too likely to end up…I don’t know. Worse.”

Xander sinks his head into his hands, and Willow pats him on the knee, making him jump. She pats Spike’s brace, too. “We’ll keep working on it,” she says softly. “We’ll think of something.”

After some discussion about who’s going to sleep where—she insists she’ll be fine upstairs on the air mattress—Willow and Giles retreat to the kitchen with books and computers. Pan and Todd go home. And Xander and Spike remain on the couch, both of them staring at the television but neither of them seeing a thing.

 

Xander’s restless. He’s pacing through the room, running his hand across the stubble on his head. It’s driving Spike mad, in part because he’s restless, too, and he can’t even pace. As soon as it’s dark, Xander heads out to the garage. Spike stays on the couch, staring at the ceiling, listening to the occasional low sounds of conversation in the kitchen.

When Xander returns an hour or more later, he’s holding a hammer. He looks more relaxed, though, the set of his shoulders a little less tight. The tool looks comfortable in his hand.

“You know, I bet I could do some work upstairs,” he says. “I think I know how.”

Good. That’ll keep him occupied a while, anyway.

“Want to come up with me?”

Spike hesitates only a moment before he nods. He can’t stand the couch any longer.

Xander scoops Spike into his arms and carries him up the stairs easily, as if Spike were a small child. He sets Spike on the air mattress with his back against the wall and takes a long look around.

“I think…I think I’ll start here,” he says.

“That’s where you stopped when…when you disappeared. They took you when you were off buying drywall.”

“Yeah, well, I still need the drywall. But I can do some more framing first.”

“Mind the sharp sticks,” Spike says.

Xander shoots him a small smile.

Spike watches him for a long time, neither of them speaking. After a while, Xander starts humming. One of his old favorites, Spike thinks. Something by Johnny Cash.

“You always liked that song,” he comments.

“Yeah?” Xander’s talking around a mouthful of nails. “Wha’ elle i I li’en oo?”

“Gonna have to repeat that, pet.”

Xander pulls the last nail from between his lips. “What else did I listen to?”

“Sex Pistols. Ramones. Iggy Pop.”

Xander lifts his eyebrows. “I’m finding myself doubting you, Spike.”

Spike tries to look offended. “Don’t trust me?”

“Should I trust a vampire?”

Spike sighs. “Probably not.”

It’s unseasonably warm this evening, and the room is a little stuffy. Xander takes his shirt off, and Spike enjoys the bunch and stretch of his strong muscles, the sheen of his milk-pale skin under the overhead light. He remembers what happened the last time he watched Xander work, how Xan had posed with the tool belt around his hips, and Spike frowns. Xander’s too busy to notice.

An hour or so later, Xander stops and looks at him quizzically. “Spike?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s the metal box out in the garage? It smells like you.”

“That’s because I spent two days in it when you brought me here from Nebraska. We were going to get rid of it. Never got around to it, I suppose.”

Xander looks horrified. “I made you ride in that tiny box all the way from Omaha?”

“Wasn’t your idea. Besides, you didn’t really know me yet.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry. How could I do that to you?”

“Xan, when you let me out of there, you were nothing but kind to me. You….I was a wreck. Not physically, but…. Until you brought me home, I didn’t expect ever to be comfortable or, or safe, or…or loved.” Spike can’t go on.

“Luv, I’m knackered. Could you take me downstairs?”

Xander nods, but his face is still grim. He puts his tools to the side and carries Spike down to their bed. He takes off the splints and then undresses Spike, looking critically at his legs. “How are they doing?”

Spike moves them around a bit. “I think…maybe by tomorrow evening I can get rid of those plastic things. Maybe try walking a bit. I think we still have crutches stuffed in the back of the closet, but I don’t know if I can manage them without…” He waves his stumps and Xander frowns. He straps the splints back on Spike’s bare legs.

Xander slides into bed and they mold themselves into their usual position. Spike’s not yet used to Xander being the same temperature as him, or to the absence of a heart beating against his back, but it’s still comfortable. Comforting.

He smells Xander’s arousal before he feels it. It’s a good scent, different from before. A little musky and spicy. Then Xander’s hard against his arse. And he’s snuffling into the back of Spike’s neck.

“This okay?” Xander asks. And Spike responds by moving backwards, pressing tightly against Xander.

Xander licks him. Right along the line where the collars were. “You smell good,” he says. “Taste good, too.”

Xander wraps one long arm around Spike and rubs it gently up and down Spike’s chest. “Ribs okay?” he whispers against Spike’s skin.

“Fine.”

Xander rubs a little harder and gently rocks his hips into Spike. He continues licking, too, tiny little tastes along the bottom of the hairline and then across the jaw and into his ear.

It feels good. Surprisingly good, actually, and Spike quietly groans. When Xander freezes, Spike wiggles his hips a little, letting Xander know it’s all right to continue. So Xander does, only now he’s sucking right over Spike’s carotid, and Spike shudders a little and groans again.

Xander’s movements against him have become more insistent, and a slick trail of precome is dampening Spike’s buttocks. Xander stops rubbing with his hand and instead grasps Spike’s nipple between his finger and thumb, sending a little tingle through the center of Spike’s body.

“This okay?” Xander asks again.

“Yeah. It’s nice. Do you want…there’s some slick in the drawer over there.”

Xander stops moving for a moment. “But…your legs?”

Spike wonders if it’s really the legs that are bothering him. Well, that’s the good thing about this position. He won’t be reminded of the blankness of Spike’s groin.

“We’ve done this before with me in splints. It’s fine. Just…a little slow, is all.”

“I can do slow.” Xander reaches over and pulls out the tube. Then he looks at it. “I, umm, I don’t know how to do this,” he says sheepishly.

“You’re a virgin of sorts.”

“The virgin demon. Demons. What do I do, Spike?”

“Squeeze a little on your finger. Stick your finger up my bum. Can spread some more on your cock, too, if you want.”

Xander is nervous and he drops the tube. It bounces off the mattress and onto the floor. Spike watches him retrieve it, unscrew the lid, and then dole a gloppy bit onto his fingers. He puts the tube on top of the table and lies back down.

He uses his other hand to gently knead one of Spike’s cheeks. His hands are still calloused, and Spike supposes now they always will be. Then he feels a slippery digit pressing hesitantly against his entrance. He hisses and arches his back, and the finger breaches him.

Xander moves his finger in and out very slowly, and Spike would have accused him of teasing, but he thinks Xan’s just hesitant still. “That’s nice, luv. And if you want you can—Oh, fuck!”

Xander freezes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. You just…just brushed against my sweet spot, pet.” He hadn’t been sure he was still capable of feeling that good, but apparently, he is.

Xander purrs, “So you’d like it if I did this again?” And he does, and Spike moans loudly.

“Gonna give the witch and the watcher a shock, pet.”

“I don’t care,” Xander replies, and does it several more times, causing Spike to writhe and pant. “Spike, I want…is it okay if…if I go in now?”

“Yeah,” Spike says hoarsely.

He shudders again when the finger is withdrawn, but then he feels the familiar cock pushing against him instead. He flashes for a second to the other ones that have been in him lately—then forcefully pushes the thought away. This is his beloved Xander.

Xander is sinking into him now. “Oh, God, Spike, fuck!” In the kitchen, Red’s probably blushing and the watcher is wiping his glasses and pretending he doesn’t hear. “That’s so…God!”

Xander’s all the way in now, his balls against the sensitive skin of Spike’s arse, and then he’s moving. Carefully. Slow and deep. He changes the angle just a bit and then it’s Spike who’s cursing and saying, “Christ, like that, Xan, yes!”

A big hand is playing with his nipple again while the other is under him, clutching his hip hard enough to leave bruises. It feels wonderful, but…incomplete. Like there’s an itch Spike can’t quite scratch, and of course he can’t, can he?

Still, Xander’s moving quickly now, making appreciative noises. He resumes sucking on Spike’s neck, and that feels bloody good, too. Which gives him an idea.

“Pet? Change,” he rasps.

Xander groans and Spike hears the quiet crunch of reshaping bones and flesh. Now Xander’s bucking faster and deeper, and his fangs are nipping lightly at Spike’s skin.

Spike tilts his head away, making an offer any vampire recognizes, even a new one. Xander sinks his teeth deeply into Spike.

Oh, fuck! Fuck fuck fuck….

Just as Xander cries out against his neck and Spike feels Xander’s cool seed bathing his inner passage, a ball of fire rolls from Spike’s neck to his nipples to his belly and arse, leaving a trail of bright sparklers as it goes, making his muscles twitch and his own fangs drop.

Xander gradually slows, and then stops. He pulls out his teeth and licks at the small wounds, which are already closing. Spike whimpers and trembles with an aftershock.

“Jesus, baby,” Xander whispers into his ear.

“Jesus had nothing to do with that.”

“No, I mean, that was amazing. But…but you….” He stammers, and his hand drops from Spike’s chest and cups his groin.

Spike holds his breath.

“Did you…can you….”

Spike pulls himself roughly away, causing the softening cock to withdraw from him. “I’m fine,” he growls into his pillow.

“But, but you….”

“Said I’m fine! You’re a fledge, you need to shag a lot. Only bloody use for me anyway.”

Xander sits up abruptly. “I don’t want to fucking _use_ you, Spike!”

Spike remembers hearing those words before.

When Spike doesn’t answer, Xander throws himself down and rolls over on his side, facing away from Spike. They’re not touching at all.

 

It’s mid-day when Spike wakes up and Xander’s not in bed. Spike lies there a while, wondering if he should call for help like a bloody invalid or just crawl pathetically into the living room. He’s rejected both plans and has resigned himself to staying in bed indefinitely when Xander enters, mug in hand.

“Hungry?” Xander says, unsmiling. He’s damp and shirtless and smells of vanilla.

“Yeah, Xan, ta.”

Xander sets the mug on the nightstand, and Spike sees that he’s stuck a blue and white straw in it, so that Spike can drink without Xander having to hold the cup for him. As Spike leans over and sips, Xander sits on the bed.

“Look, Spike, about last night….”

Spike growls at him. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

There’s a long, painful silence. Finally, Xander lightly taps one of the splints. “Want to try and take these off?”

Spike nods, and Xander carefully undoes the straps, leaving Spike completely bare on the bed. They both look down at his legs. They appear straight, and the swelling in his knees is gone. Spike bends them, gingerly at first, and then more confidently when there’s no twinge of pain. He’s almost happy about it, but then his glance falls on his groin and he frowns and looks away.

“Can you help me on with my trousers?” he asks through gritted teeth.

Xander helps pull some jeans onto him. Bloody nice not to wear those stupid sweats anymore. Of course, he can’t zip or button them himself, but it’s still an improvement.

With his arm around Xander’s shoulders, and Xander’s arm around his waist, he’s able to make his way slowly into the living room, collapsing ungracefully onto the couch. The watcher and the witch are there, deep in discussion with Todd and Pan.

Willow smiles at him, but he can tell from the sad look in her eyes that someone has filled her in on the full extent of his injuries.

Xander climbs onto the couch and settles himself under Spike’s legs. Despite last night, he still seems to need the physical contact with Spike, and Spike, well, he doesn’t hate it either. Especially when Xander begins absent-mindedly running the fingers of one hand through Spike’s hair.

The people in the room are all exchanging significant looks with one another, but nobody says anything until Spike can’t stand it any longer. “All right, then, out with it. What have you lot been scheming?”

There’s another round of looks, and then the watcher finally clears his throat. “Yes, well, it seems we may have uncovered a possible solution to our problem.”

Which problem is that, Spike wants to ask. It seems like there are so many right now. But he knows which one Giles means—the memory issue.

“You’ve found a way to track down Drusilla?”

Xander looks sharply at him at that, but Spike’s not sure why. Sure, she’d been the one to turn him, but surely he wouldn’t mind seeing her again if it meant he could get himself back.

It’s Willow who answers his question, though. “No, Spike. Drusilla could be anywhere—or, or nowhere. And we can’t find a way to locate her.”

“Then what?”

Nobody says anything, and Spike’s about ready to scream from impatience. Xander keeps petting his hair calmly, though.

Finally, Giles takes off his glasses and looks at the vampires solemnly. “We’ve found a resurrection spell,” he says.

Spike looks at the man blankly. He has no idea what he’s going on about.

Willow steps in to explain. “It’s a spell—well, really a whole ritual, because there are several incantations you have to make, and the whole herbs in fire thing, and then—well, anyway. It brings the undead back from…from hell.”

Spike’s head starts to spin. “Y-you mean to say….” he sputters, but can’t finish.

Giles nods and puts his glasses back on. “We’re going to try and bring back Angel.”

 

[Chapter 12b](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/15480.html#cutid1)


	17. 12b If Wishes Were Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)   [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=)[****](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=)for the beautiful art, and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;   for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 12b: If Wishes Were Horses**_  
**Chapter Title:** 12b If Wishes Were Horses   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)   [](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=)[****](http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=)for the beautiful art, and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;   for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

Posting way early today because it's Valentine's Day, and it's a longish chapter, and there's a surprise. &lt;g&gt;

****This chapter is in 2 parts.** **   


[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)  
---  
  
The remainder of the afternoon is spent discussing preparations. Spike absorbs very little of it, and he suspects the same is true for Xander.

He does understand the basics. Powerful magics will be used to wrench Angel from whatever hell Spike sent him to. Nobody’s certain what condition he’ll be in if they succeed, either physically or mentally. Apparently time runs differently in hell dimensions and so he may have been there a very long time indeed. Nobody’s certain, either, if his soul will remain intact. But whatever shape he’s in when he arrives, he ought to be able to donate some blood to his grandchilder.

Or, actually, _if_ he arrives, because the magics involved are complicated. And, Spike suspects, a bit on the dodgy side. He knows Willow has the potential for strong sorcery, but she’s largely unpracticed. The watcher will help as best as he can, and Todd and Pan can add their own demonic energies to the mix, but it’s still iffy. Giles has spoken with his fiancée, Jane Monroe, and filled her in on the situation. She’ll be coming to join them as soon as she can get a flight; everyone seems to feel her experience with Wicca may be helpful.

As usual, Spike has no contribution to make. He broods on the couch and wonders what reaction Angel will have to the vampire who dusted him, even if Angel himself had allowed that to happen. Perhaps, knowing better than anyone what sort of degradation and debasement Spike faced at the hands of the Initiative, and seeing what further devastation Walsh has recently inflicted on him, Angel will want to destroy him. Spike doesn’t mind this too much—he figures he’ll be dust as soon as Xander’s made whole again anyway—but he hopes Angel waits until Xander’s memory is restored. Until he remembers his friends, losing Spike would be a blow to him.

Xander says very little as the discussion drones on. He continues to card his fingers through Spike’s curls, and Spike’s not sure which of them he means to soothe by this. Both, maybe. But by the time Willow and Giles get into an argument of the relative merits of henbane versus bloodroot, Xander is tapping his foot impatiently and picking at the threads in Spike’s jeans.

Finally, Spike can’t stand it any longer.

“Zilla, is it sundown yet?” he whispers to the demon lounging on the floor in front of him. Todd nods.

“Think maybe you and your boy could take Xan out for a bit?”

Xander frowns. “I don’t want to leave—“

“Just for a bit, pet. I can see it—you need a bit of action, yeah?” Xander frowns again but nods. They both know it’s not normal for a new vampire to spend all his time lying around on the furniture.

“The green team here can take you somewhere you can let off a bit of steam. Maybe find some nasty demons to pound.”

Xander perks up at that, and so do Todd and Pan. They’ve grown tired of sitting around as well. Truthfully, Spike could use a good mind-clearing brawl, too, but even if he could walk decently, he’d probably be more of a liability than anything.

Xander throws on a shirt and shoes, and, with a worried look at Spike, trails Todd and Pan out the door. Giles and Willow retire to the kitchen, no doubt to dig things up on the internet and argue over obscure texts.

Spike is left on the couch, alone. Someone has turned on the telly and left the remote nearby, but of course he can’t operate the bleeding thing, unless he wants to try with his toes. Or his tongue. Neither appeals to him.

He stares at the empty fireplace, wondering how a dead heart can ache so much.

 

Todd and Pan drop Xander off late, long after the watcher and the witch have crawled off to bed. Spike is still on the couch, thinking sourly about how much he wishes he could write in his journal again, or even turn the pages of a book himself.

Xander is elated. Bouncing, really. His red t-shirt is torn and filthy and Spike smells blood on him—Xander’s own as well as something more exotic. There’s a nasty-looking bruise around Xander’s left eye.

Xander throws himself down on the couch next to Spike and grins broadly. “Hi, Spike,” he says. He smells of beer as well.

“Did you go to Ricky’s, then?”

“Yeah. It was great. There was this group of Zaluzja demons—nasty little fuckers, all warts and wrinkles—and they started giving us a hard time. Saying a lot of shit about half-breeds and human wannabes. So we beat the crap out of them. Have you seen Todd fight, Spike? He’s really good for kind of a little guy. Pan’s pretty good, too.”

Xander goes on about the details of the fight, but Spike’s not really listening. He’s watching, instead. Seeing the animation in Xander’s face and hands, the sparkle in his eyes. Seeing Xander happy.

It’s so bittersweet that Spike finds himself blinking back tears, and he’s glad Xander’s too caught up in his tale to notice.

Finally, Xander finishes by bringing them each a warm mug of blood. Spike watches Xander as he drinks, too, still marveling a little at the sight of Xander Harris greedily swallowing mouthfuls of A positive. When Xander is finished, he takes the mugs into the kitchen. He returns and stands over Spike.

“I’m beat,” he says. “Wanna go to bed?”

Spike looks him over. “Might want to shower first, pet,” he says, finally. “You’re a bit grubby.”

Xander glances down at himself and smiles. “Yeah, I guess I am. Shower it is.” He starts to walk away, then stops and turns back. “Think your legs are up to joining me?”

Yeah, Spike knows how that’s going to turn out. Boy’s got the demon equivalent of adrenalin still racing through him—maybe four demons’ worth, in his case—and now he’s going to want a nice, lively shag. Well, Spike doesn’t mind. It’s one of the few things he can manage to do for Xander. He just hopes the sight of his mutilated body doesn’t disgust Xander too much. Their other bouts of sex have taken place mainly under the blankets.

Spike limps slowly into the bathroom and watches as Xander strips. He has a few deep lacerations, but they’ve already begun to heal, and will likely be gone by morning. He looks healthy, otherwise. For a vampire, anyway. His muscles are hard and well-defined, his waist is trim, and his pearly skin looks soft and supple. His cock, which is now flaccid, hangs long and heavy from beneath a lush nest of curly black hair.

Xander helps Spike off with his trousers and then turns on the tap.

Spike is pleased to be able to climb into the tub unaided. Xander follows and pulls the curtain with the yellow ducks closed around them. The water is as hot as it will go and it falls in delicious, fiery spatters across Spike’s chest and belly. It cascades down Xander as well, pouring off the slowly growing stubble on his head, down the wide shoulders, forming streams and rivers down the broad chest and the strong legs. Spike resists the urge to lick Xander from stomach to face, tasting him like a lollipop.

Xander quickly soaps himself and rinses. Then he and Spike switch places, and Xander bathes Spike, running his capable hands over muscles Spike hadn’t even realized were tight and tense. He doesn’t falter when he gets to Spike’s crotch, just tenderly rubbing suds into the smooth area as if it were perfectly normal, as if nothing were wrong. Spike closes his eyes and allows himself to enjoy the contact against his skin.

Without saying anything, Xander gently guides Spike so that his back is turned to him, and then he continues his methodical cleansing and massaging. It seems like it takes him a century to get to Spike’s arse, but when he does, he kneads the taut globes and Spike groans. But when a soap-slick hand presses into the cleft of his cheeks, Spike gasps and presses backwards a bit, telling Xander without words that this is good, he should continue.

And he does continue. Xander moves to stand closer to Spike and now he’s licking the droplets of water off of Spike’s neck and shoulders while his finger traces around the edge of Spike’s hole, teasing a little. Spike widens his stance as much as the tub allows and wishes he could reach behind himself and clutch at Xander’s hips.

Now the blunt tip of Xander’s finger enters him. Xander whispers against his ear, “Is this okay?” and Spike responds by turning his head and capturing those soft, wet lips in a kiss.

The finger goes in deeper. Either Xander’s a quick study or his body remembers Spike’s, because he quickly finds the right angle to make Spike moan and tremble against him. His other hand wraps around Spike’s hip, steadying him when his knees grow almost too weak to support him. Their tongues twist around each other, moving to the same dance as Xander’s finger and Spike’s rocking pelvis.

“Do you want this, Spike?” is the whisper this time.

Spike hisses out an affirmative. He does want this. Not just because it’s something he can do for Xander, but because it feels good to him, too. It helps him remember those short months when his body was truly his, his to share with the man he loved.

Xander withdraws his finger and reaches for the soap instead, using it to coat his hard and dripping length. An eternal moment later and that length is slipping slowly into Spike’s body, the stretch and burn almost too good to bear. Spike raises his arm and howls into the skin above his stump.

Xander is panting against his neck now, the cool rasp of his breath feathering past Spike’s face with the scents of beer and blood. While one of Xander’s hands grasps Spike’s hip, the other rubs up and down his belly, the fingertips tracing his muscles as if they were mapping a new territory.

Spike lets his head fall back against Xander. He closes his eyes again and listens to the wet slap and slither of their skin. Xander has angled his deep thrusts just right, and each one sends an electric tingle to every nerve ending in Spike’s body.

“God, Spike,” Xander gasps. “You feel so good. You’re so beautiful. Did I used to tell you how beautiful you are?”

“Not—not beautiful,” Spike moans. Never was beautiful the way Xander is, and now…. But Xander derails this train of thought by nibbling lightly on the skin on top of Spike’s shoulder.

“Beautiful,” he pants. “Gorgeous. Stunning. Daz—fuck!—dazzling. Oh, Spike! Rav-ravishing.”

Spike’s entire body is shaking now, as if something inside is trying to escape. He knows each word out of Xander’s mouth is a kind lie, but it doesn’t matter right now. All that matters now is—

“Change, baby, please.”

With an enormous shudder, Spike does. The heavy brows of his face and his lengthened fangs throb with the same beat as the cock that’s now pounding quickly into his hungry passage.

And when Xander bends his head down and around, brushing his neck against Spike’s face, Spike doesn’t hesitate. He buries his teeth into the smooth skin and starts to suckle.

As the spicy flavor of his beloved bursts onto his tongue and palate, he dimly hears Xander roar his name, barely feels the rush of liquid that bathes his insides. It feels like he’s flying, no, falling, faster and faster, and the air is rushing through his head and taking away his thoughts and all he can do is feel as he shatters apart into a billion throbbing pieces.

His knees finally give way completely and so do Xander’s. They fall to the bottom of the tub in a tangle, both of them lying there in a daze until the water begins to run cold.

Xander shuts off the tap and helps Spike onto the yellow bathmat. He wraps him in a big, fluffy towel, peppering Spike’s cheek and brows with tiny kisses as he dries him off. Then he dries himself.

When Spike’s legs threaten to give out again, Xander scoops him into his arms and carries him to their bed like a bride. They settle into their comforting spooning position, Xander’s arm wrapped around Spike’s middle like a safety belt.

Spike’s pleased that Xander was able to overlook his mutilations and happy that they’ve been able to settle peacefully together tonight. He wishes—hell, what’s the use of wishing? Better to just enjoy while it lasts.

He waits for Xander’s breathing to slow and then stop, before he allows himself to slip into sleep himself.

 

They wait.

Jane arrives. She and Willow have chatted before by phone, but this is the first they’ve met in person. They hit it off immediately, and quickly start scouring the city for some of the more arcane ingredients that they’ll need. Harpy and phoenix feathers aren’t easy to come by.

The watcher announces that the house is getting too crowded, and Spike has to suppress a snicker. He wonders if Giles is afraid his and Xander’s noises will shock Jane, or whether he wants the privacy for them to make noises themselves. In either case, they find a nice hotel room downtown. When Spike inquires about the cost, Giles waves him away impatiently. “I’ll find some way to get the Council to cover it,” he mutters.

During the afternoons, Xander works on the upstairs. Spike usually watches him, admiring the sure manner in which he still handles the wood and the tools, the way he can take bits of nothing and turn them into something. Almost like magic.

In the evenings, Xander goes out with Todd and Pan. Now that Spike is able to walk, they persuade him to accompany them, but he doesn’t take part in any fights. He just looks on from the corner, thinking how beautiful Xander looks as he battles. He’d been a good fighter before, but the addition of vampire speed and strength has turned him into something truly formidable. Soon he has killed all the demons that are stupid enough to take him on, and the rest treat him with fear and respect. He grumbles that he’s going to have to travel now to find a good dust-up. Spike finds himself futilely wishing again, this time that he and Xander could spar. His own considerable fighting skills were highly polished by the Initiative, but he suspects Xander would be able to hold his own against him, even if Spike were whole.

Back at home, they shag. Xander gets off on it. And Spike usually does, too, in that strange new way. He wonders sometimes if that’s what it feels like for women when they come. In any case, both of them need the solace of another body as much as they need the release.

So the shagging is nice, and after they fall asleep pressed together. But Spike feels like something is missing, some vital little piece that they used to have. The connection is almost there, but not quite. Spike still loves Xander, still counts him as his only reason to go on. And Xander says he loves Spike—maybe even believes it—but Spike knows the truth. Spike is simply the one bit of almost-familiar in a confusing world. As soon as Xander recovers his memories he’ll be able to move on. And Spike, well, he guesses he’ll move on, too. In his own way.

For now, though, neither is willing to damage the fragile peace they’ve built. So they talk and they shag and they spoon, and deep inside, Spike treasures every moment and every touch, knowing how precious they are. And how numbered.

 

“We’ve got it.”

Willow’s face is shining with joy and her smile stretches from ear to ear.

Xander looks over from the sheets of drywall he’s mudding, and Spike looks up as well. He’s sitting on the floor, lazily rolling an empty can of spackle back and forth with his bare foot.

Spike expected Xander to whoop with happiness at this news, but he actually looks a bit subdued. He has a little worry line between his eyebrows.

“When will you do it, Red?”

“Tonight. We’ll do the ritual just after sunset.”

Spike nods. “Erm, Red? Have you thought about what’s going to happen to Angel? Aside from the blood donation part. You don’t mean to send him back, do you?”

Willow looks shocked. “Oh, goddess, no! I…I guess we’ll ask him what he wants. I mean, he’s a big vampire and he’s always been able to take care of himself.”

“Yeah, but—“

“And he even got sent to hell before. He was a little…weird when he came back. Weirder than normal. But he got over it pretty quickly.”

Spike frowns at her. “Yeah, well, two trips might be one too many. Besides, before that he spent maybe years as a guest of the Initiative, and….Red, I was there when he dusted. I dusted him. He was in rough shape.”

Willow sighs and looks down at her feet. “I know. We’ll just have to deal with that when we get to it.”

“He can stay here if he wants,” Xander says quietly. “I mean…he’s family, isn’t he? And we’re bringing him here to help us, so….”

“Running a home for poor and damaged demons, pet?”

Xander laughs. “Nah, Spike. I’m one of the inmates, remember?”

“Not much longer, pet.”

 

[Chapter 13a](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/15827.html#cutid1)


	18. 13a Resurrection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)   for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/) for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 13a: Resurrection**_  
**Chapter Title:** 13a Resurrection   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)   for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/) for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

Early again today because right now I have a clear shot at the computer. Long, exciting (I hope!) chapter.

****This chapter is in 2 parts.** **

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)  
---  
  
Just before sundown, Xander and Spike troop downstairs. Everyone else has gathered in the living room already, and someone has pushed the furniture back against the walls. Jane and Willow are both nervous and flushed with excitement, Giles is polishing his glasses, and even Todd and Pan are jittery.

Willow turns to Spike. “This might be a little easier if we have something that used to belong to Angel. Something he’s handled a lot. Maybe one of those weapons Xander took from his house?”

Spike shakes his head. “Got a whole stack of pointy things upstairs, Red, and I don’t know which were his. And Xan won’t remember.” He looks wryly at Xander, who scowls. “What about that blanket? The red one?”

But Willow shakes her head. “The one on your bed? You two have been using it too much. I’m afraid it may have too much of you and not enough of him left. Is there anything else? We don’t absolutely need it, but it’ll help, you know?”

Spike frowns at the ceiling for a moment and then his expression clears. “The book!”

Willow raises an eyebrow.

“Picked it up when we were down in Sunnydale. _Nausea_. It was his.”

Willow looks relieved. “That’s perfect, Spike.”

Spike turns to Xander. “Pet, can you fetch it for me? I was trying to read it the night I…. Anyway, I think I saw it on the nightstand.”

Xander goes to the bedroom. Sure enough, there it is. He flips through it for a moment but it’s in French and he can’t understand a word. He trots back to the living room and hands it to Willow, who smiles at him.

There’s a large pile of…things…near the center of the room. Candles and bowls and bags full of mysterious dried things. And chains. Spike raises his eyebrows at this and Willow looks apologetic. “Angel might not…might not be himself at first. We’re doing a containment spell, too,” she gestures at the circle drawn in chalk in the center of the floor, “but we’re not sure how effective it’ll be. Xander, Spike, will you be ready to jump him if he acts…squirrelly? Just so we can get him restrained before anyone gets hurt.”

Spike and Xander both nod gravely. Xander notices that the watcher has a stake in his hand as well, and he inches nervously away. He hopes Spike doesn’t notice.

Willow places the book carefully in the center of the circle.

Giles lights a fire in the fireplace and Willow and Jane each throw in a handful of herbs. The thick smell of burning vegetation quickly fills the room. Xander stifles a cough.

Willow smiles anxiously at Xander. “Umm, this is going to work best if the demons are, uh, naked. Unclothed. So, uh, if you could….” She blushes as her voice trails off.

Todd grins a little and starts shucking his clothing; Pan isn’t far behind him. They’re both beautiful nude, and Xander finds himself having to wrench his gaze away to fumble with his own clothes. Soon they’re in a little pile at the edge of the room.

Spike has managed to get out of his shirt by himself, and now looks miserably down at his pants. Xander’s not sure what’s bothering him more—having to rely on someone else to undress him, like an infant, or being forced to reveal his mutilated body in front of this crowd. Xander claps a hand on Spike’s shoulder, trying to reassure him with a look, but Spike avoids eye contact. Xander sighs and undoes Spike’s jeans, and Spike slithers out of them, kicking them into the corner.

The women and Giles are carefully not looking at the collection of male nudity displayed in front of them. Willow’s face is crimson. Spike’s staring down at his feet as if the missing toe might reappear at any moment, and Pan’s and Todd’s faces are set with frowns.

“Can...can all the demons please sit in one of the marked spots around the circle?”

Xander exchanges glances with Spike, who shrugs. Xander finds stars written in chalk near the edge of the circle, and, with a small nod from Willow, he sits cross-legged on one of them. Spike sits directly across from him, Todd to his right, and Pan to the left.

Spike is sitting very straight-backed, the fine lines of his body taut as a bowstring. His jaw is clenched tightly and his eyes glitter like chips of Arctic ice. His cheekbones look sharp enough to cut glass, and the firelight casts deep shadows across his face.

Jane walks over and lays a warm little hand on Xander’s back. “I think this will work better if you wear your demon faces, boys.”

Almost as one, the four of them change. Xander hears little gasps and realizes that the humans have never seen him vamped out. Todd smiles at him, his mouth glimmering with needle-sharp teeth, and Xander smiles back, enjoying the feeling of baring his own razor fangs.

Spike is equally beautiful like this, a creature of power and savagery that’s all the more impressive for its containment.

Willow and Jane begin slowly walking outside the circle of demons, tracing the pathway counter-clockwise while waving some kind of stone in front of themselves. Willow is chanting quietly in a language Xander’s never heard before. The hairs on his body stand up as if he’s received a mild electric charge, and he sees that Pan’s skin is twitching.

Giles is leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed on his chest and a look of deep apprehension on his face.

Willow’s chanting gets a little louder and now Jane joins in, too. She has a sweet voice, high and clear.

The tingle in Xander’s skin intensifies a little. It’s not unpleasant, just odd. Willow had warned them to expect something like this. She’d be drawing on the magic that animates their bodies, she said, using it to help fuel the spell the same way a battery runs the television remote control.

As Willow comes around the circle again, Xander gets a good look at her face. He’s startled to find her eyes turned to swirling black clouds, and for the first time, he’s actually afraid of the woman. There’s a not-quite visible aura of something surrounding her as well, and Xander thinks that if he reached out to touch her right now it’d crisp him as thoroughly as the sun. He carefully clamps his hands around his knees.

Spike catches his eye. There’s an unexpected glint of humor there, and a split second later, Xander understands why. Spurred by the enchantment in the air, his cock fills and lengthens, soon jutting demandingly between his crossed legs. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Todd and Pan shift a little and knows that the same thing has happened to them. Only Spike remains visibly unaffected, although Xander can tell from the slight tremor in his body that he’s feeling it, too.

The chanting abruptly changes tone, becoming louder and harsher. Although everyone but the two witches remains silent, it sounds as if a chorus of otherworldy voices has joined in the incantation as well, providing an eerie harmony to the women’s more earthbound timbres. Willow strews some herbs before her as she walks, something bitter and astringent smelling.

Xander’s balls are pulsing and his cock is dripping clear fluid onto the polished wood floor. The urge to stroke himself becomes so strong that he sits on his hands. The green demons have done the same. Spike’s pupils are huge, the blue almost obscured, and he’s panting through his nose.

The witches suddenly stop circling. Willow is directly behind Xander, so he can’t see her, but Jane positions herself behind Spike’s stiff back. Her eyes are wide open, staring at nothing.

“Blood!” Willow shrieks in a voice not her own.

Xander is completely paralyzed, unable even to fill his lungs, as Willow leans over him and runs the tip of a silver dagger deeply down the furrow of his chest. His blood runs down his belly, filters through his pubic hair, and pools stickily underneath him.

His stomach lurches hungrily at the scent, and his cock jerks insistently.

He can breathe again, and he slumps slightly as the women walk a quarter turn clockwise. He watches Pan struggle for oxygen as Willow slices him. His blood is thick and purplish. Pan lets in a loud whoop of air as Willow moves on to Spike.

Spike’s eyes fill with panic as he’s immobilized, and Xander, who finds himself completely unable to form sounds, tries to look reassuring. When the red line blooms down the pale, sculpted chest, though, Xander almost swoons with lust—lust for Spike’s blood, lust for Spike.

Finally, Willow turns to Todd, who pastes a stoic look on his face. His blood is slightly greenish and smells of exotic spices. Xander finds himself wondering whether Stadnents are edible, and he shudders.

The blood that has run off each of their bodies is now being pulled toward the center of the circle, as if the blood was metal and the book was a powerful magnet. The four bright trails converge in a single gory puddle, staining and saturating the pages, and, as the chant changes once again, a pearly shimmer appears to float over the mess. Spike’s image now dances and wavers before him, partially obscured by that…something.

The tingle in his body becomes much stronger, and he can almost see the lines of energy radiating off of him and his companions, feeding the deepening, swirling mist in the center of the room.

The room is plunged into darkness. Even with his vampire sight, the only thing he can see is that shifting whirlwind. It seems to him as if he can almost make out faces in the center of the thing, and, over the sounds of the constant chanting, he thinks he can hear the distant din of a million voices howling and shrieking.

Now he can’t feel the floor underneath him. There are no scents. The draw on his body intensifies, and he’s pretty sure he’s screaming. He’s not sure whether in pain or pleasure. Maybe both.

Against his will, his hips are rocking, his angry cock thrusting into the air, which now seems to swirl all around him as if he’s caught in the whirlwind himself.

Willow’s voice calls, clearly and imperiously, “Angel!”

A freight train rushes through Xander’s body, making him come, making him yell, making him forget everything except the pull on his skin and his bones and his nerves and his soul.

There’s a tremendous crashing and rending noise, and then all is black.

 

He comes to to find Spike leaning over him, his face lined with anxiety. Spike is thumping his shoulder with the stumps of his arms and calling his name.

“Xander! Xander! Christ, Xan, are you there?”

Xander tries to speak, thinks better of it, and nods minutely instead. His head feels like the inside of a mosh pit and his skin feels burnt and overly sensitive. Spike’s face relaxes a little.

“Can you sit, pet?”

Xander blinks a bit. He realizes that he must not have been unconscious very long. Spike’s still naked and Xander’s lying in a puddle of his own sticky fluids.

Spike reaches out an arm and Xander uses it to laboriously pull himself into a sitting position. He almost falls over again but Spike catches him and kneels behind him, bearing much of Xander’s weight.

Todd and Pan are huddled together under the white blanket from the couch, wide-eyed and shocky looking.

Willow has collapsed in a heap by the couch, and Giles has one arm thrown protectively over her, the other draped over the equally inert form of his fiancée.

There’s a body in the center of the circle.

It’s unmoving, curled tightly into a fetal ball.

It’s naked, the skin bruised and scraped everywhere.

And as Xander inhales deeply, he becomes aware of one other matter.

It’s alive.

It’s human.

 

It takes a long, slow time before everyone has recovered themselves enough to gather warily around the unmoving form. Spike and Xander are still naked, although nobody has taken much notice of that fact. All the demons have switched back to their human forms.

The figure before them is large and male, his skin glowing golden in the firelight. They can’t see his face. His blood rushes noisily through his body, his heart pounding a desperate beat. He’s breathing quickly and a shiver runs through him from top to bottom.

It’s Spike who breaks the silence with a tiny whisper: “Angel?”

The man before them trembles again and curls into an impossibly tighter ball. Everyone else exchanges glances, unsure what to do.

At long last, Spike inches closer and then kneels down, bending over the man much as he’d bent over Xander a few minutes earlier. Cautiously, he touches an arm against the broad back. “Angel?” he breathes again. “It’s me. Spike.”

There’s no response, apart from another shake.

Spike looks lost and Xander finds himself kneeling next to him, one arm draped across the pale shoulders. Excruciatingly slowly, Xander uses his other hand to coax the man onto his back, out of the tightly wound coil. With one more shudder, the man untucks his head.

Spike hisses in a breath. “Angel!”

The man’s eyes are large and brown and terrified. He looks back and forth between the two vampires crouching over him and a keening wail tears from his throat. Then he’s back in a ball, and no amount of gentle pressure will budge him. He continues to cry, harsh, heartbreaking sobs.

Giles clears his throat. “Perhaps, erm, we should give him some time to recover a bit. Maybe you’d like to get tidied up in the meantime?”

Xander glances down at himself. The wound has begun to heal already, but he’s quite a sight. The other three aren’t any better. He nods shakily.

The four demons scoop up their discarded clothing and crowd into the bathroom. Xander hands out towels and nobody speaks as they wipe themselves down. Xander gently cleanses Spike, and for once, Spike looks relieved at the assistance. They all pull on their clothes and, discarding the towels in a messy heap, stumble back out to the living room.

Angel hasn’t moved. He’s not crying any more, though.

Most of the magical paraphernalia has been cleared away, other than the circle that still contains Angel. The chains are gone, though.

Someone has made tea for the humans and heated up some blood for the vampires. Giles hands Todd and Pan each an open bottle of beer, which they guzzle gratefully. Spike sits on the couch so he can drink through his straw, and Xander settles next to him.

Willow come over and kneels in front of him, resting her hand on his knee. “Are you all right, Xander?”

“Yeah…yeah, I’m okay.” And he is. His head is clearing and his skin feels nearly normal again.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think—when I drew on all the demonic energy, you have so much more than everyone else!”

Oh, the crowd in his head. He hadn’t thought of that either. Crap.

“It didn’t occur to me how much stronger it would be for you. Can you forgive me?”

He gives her a small smile. “It’s fine. How would you have known? Not like you get freaks like me every day.”

She frowns a little at this and taps his knee. “Well, it ended up being a good thing. I don’t think we would’ve been able to do it without your extra…components. Just…take it easy a while. Okay, mister?”

He smiles at her again. “Sure, Willow.”

Spike leans forward. “Red, did you know he’d come back human?”

She shakes her head. “No. No, I didn’t. The books didn’t say, and…and I just assumed he’d still be a vamp.”

“Will his blood still work?”

“I think so. He’s still your grandsire, just…different. We can test it, though. Once he’s recovered enough to, um, donate.” She glances uncertainly at the huddled body as she says this, and clearly they’re all sharing the same thought. _If_ he recovers.

Angel is shivering a little. Without really thinking about what he’s doing, Xander gets up, steps around Willow, and pads into the bedroom. He returns with the red blanket, which he carefully drapes over Angel. He returns to the couch and Spike smiles at him. “Good idea, pet.”

Pan and Todd look as exhausted as Xander feels. They’re leaning against one wall, arms around each other and heads hanging. Giles walks over to them and says softly, “If you’d like to go rest, I’m sure Xander and Spike won’t mind lending you a bed.”

Todd looks up. “Thanks, but if you think things are under control here, maybe we’ll head home and crash. Is that okay?”

His question is answered with a small chorus of assent. Before they leave, though, Spike levers himself off the couch and wraps Todd, and then Pan, in quick hugs. “Thanks for helping. Again.”

“Sure thing, Spike. I’ll call later and see how it’s going, all right?”

After they’re gone, Spike turns to Giles and Jane. “You two look knackered as well. Go on back to your hotel. We’ll be fine here.”

Giles looks a little doubtful. “Spike, I’m not sure how well the containment spell will work, and if Angel suddenly turns violent—“

“No worries, Watcher. Xan and Red can handle just about anything between them, I’d bet.”

Xander has wandered over and now he puts an arm around Spike’s shoulders. “Yeah, Giles, it’s okay. Go get some rest.”

Finally, Giles and Jane leave. Willow takes a quick shower and heads upstairs to sleep, and Spike and Xander curl up next to each other, watching Angel’s still form.

“Do you think he’s asleep?” Xander says quietly.

“Dunno.”

Xander leans his head against Spike’s shoulder and just listens to his even breaths pull in and out.

Some time later—maybe hours later, he’s not sure—Angel stirs. Spike and Xander scramble quickly to their feet and watch as Angel slowly pulls himself upright, the blanket falling to the floor behind him. He stands crouched, as if he’s ready to fight or flee any moment, and looks cautiously around him. His gaze quickly settles on the two vampires, and his eyes widen.

“William?” he croaks. “Spike? And—Xander Harris?”

Xander supposes he looks a little different than the last time Angel saw him. According to Spike, he was ten years younger then. And alive.

Spike says, “Yeah,” and starts to move toward Angel, but stops when the man flinches back.

“Where—where—what—“

Angel is hyperventilating a little and his knees look wobbly.

Spike puts his arms up placatingly, but that draws attention to his missing hands, and Angel blanches and steps back. “What happ—what—Spike?”

“It’s okay, Angel. You’re safe. Nobody’s going to hurt you here.”

Angel’s glance flicks back to Xander and then he turns even paler. “Xander! You’re—Jesus Christ!” Xander guesses that Angel has just figured out he’s a vampire.

And then Angel looks down at himself, and the other shoe drops. “I’m—oh, fuck!” Angel’s legs finally give out, but as Xander and Spike both leap forward to catch him, Angel releases a long, hard stream of piss. He looks down at the urine as it pours down his thighs and puddles around his knees, an expression of deep and utter shock on his face. He looks back up at Spike and Xander, who are hovering uncertainly. “I haven’t had to—I forgot—oh, Christ!” and he buries his face in his hands and weeps.

The other two step into the circle and press against his warm shoulders. “It’s okay, mate,” Spike says. “Guess it’s been about two centuries since you had a full bladder, yeah?”

Angel pulls his head away from his hands and looks at Spike with pleading eyes. “What’s happening? Please?”

Spike sighs. “Long story. How about…let’s get you cleaned up, yeah? And maybe some food into you. Then we can tell you everything. Just…you’re safe now.”

“Spike? The soldiers?”

Spike and Xander both growl at this, but stop when Angel looks alarmed. “All dead now. Dead and gone. And Walsh, too. Xander killed ‘em all.” Angel looks at Xander, uncomprehendingly.

“C’mon, Angel. Spike and I will explain everything soon.”

Spike and Xander help haul Angel back to his feet. When they take two steps and reach the edge of the circle, Angel is rebuffed by an invisible barrier. Spike grumbles the release word Willow taught them and they lead him, stumbling, to the bathroom. Spike stands with his arm bracing the naked man while Xander fills the tub. He remembers to turn down the temperature a little—human bodies tend not to enjoy the scalding heat that vampires prefer. With Xander’s help, Angel lowers himself into the tub. He looks a little more relaxed as his body is submerged.

“I’ll be right back,” Xander says. He grabs a couple of the discarded towels off the floor and detours into the living room, where he uses them to mop up the puddle of urine. Then he carries them and the red blanket into the kitchen and throws them into the washing machine that’s tucked into a closet there. He snorts to himself at the concept of vampires doing laundry.

He thinks for a moment, and then roots through the cupboards. Aha! That’ll do perfectly, he thinks, pulling down a red and white can. He’s been watching Willow and now knows how to operate the stove, so within a few minutes the soup is nice and hot. He pours some into a mug and carries it into the bathroom.

Spike and Angel aren’t saying anything to each other. Just staring. Spike looks like he’s about ready to collapse and Xander gives him a reassuring squeeze, which makes Angel’s eyes bug a little. Xander hands Angel the cup and the man peers into it, frowning.

“It’s, uh, soup. Tomato. I thought it might…look sorta familiar, anyway.”

“Thank you,” Angel whispers, and takes a cautious sip. His eyebrows rise up and he takes another, and then he’s downing the entire cup in almost one big chug.

Xander takes the empty mug away and puts it on the counter. “Maybe we ought to let that settle a while before you have some more,” he says, and Angel nods a little.

“Spike? Are you still—Have you remembered?”

Spike shakes his head. “No. And they went and wiped Xander, too, after they turned him.” Angel’s eyes fly to Xander, and Xander is surprised at the depth of sympathy he sees there.

Spike sinks to his knees next to the tub. “Angel? I’m—God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to dust you. Didn’t know who you were then, and—“

“No. It wasn’t—Christ, Spike, it wasn’t your fault. You had no choice. I know that. That place…. How did you get out?”

Spike nods towards Xander. “Xan. Saved me. Three times now, and look where it got him.” Spike’s tone is bitter, but then it softens. “You helped save me, too. When you told me my name…can’t tell you how much that meant to me.”

Angel closes his eyes for a minute and lets his head fall back against the edge of the tub. “Is this real?” he whispers. “Am I dreaming it? Is it some sort of trick?”

“It’s all real, no trick. Red—erm, Willow, you remember her?—she brought you here. To Xander’s house. From wherever you were….”

“Hell. I was in hell.” Angel opens his eyes. “Again. And it wasn’t all that much worse than the Initiative, you know?” Xander and Spike both nod knowingly. “But—I’m alive? How am I here and alive?”

“Told you, it was Willow. She’s got some powerful magic in her. She used it to pull you out. We didn’t know you’d be un-undead, though. And whole.” Spike glances at Angel’s crotch, and Xander notices for the first time that the man is intact. Spike had told him that those fuckers had castrated him, but apparently rebirth has fixed that. Angel looks down, and he looks surprised, too. He hadn’t even noticed himself, with all the other shocks bombarding him.

“Spike, your hands….”

Spike’s mouth sets in a hard line and he looks away.

Xander reaches for the empty mug. “How about if I get you a refill?”

After Angel finishes off the soup, he climbs ungracefully out of the tub and Xander hands him the last clean towel. “Do you want, uh, some private bathroom time?”

Angel looks at the toilet, scowls, and nods.

Xander and Spike leave, pulling the door shut behind them. They go to their room, where Xander pulls out a pair of sweats and a t-shirt that should fit Angel. Spike sits on the bed, looking exhausted and a little overwhelmed. “Want some more blood before you sleep, Spike?”

Spike shakes his head.

“Okay. Let me just get Angel settled, than I’m coming to bed.” He’s pretty done in himself.

Angel emerges a few minutes later, looking drawn and weak. Xander has to support him as they walk down the hall. “This is mine and Spike’s room, and here’s yours,” he says, leading them into the spare room.

“Yours and Spike’s?”

“Yeah.”

“You two are—“

“Yeah.” Xander really doesn’t want to get into the details of that right now.

“Jesus Christ. And now you’re a vampire, and—“

“Still have my soul.”

Once again, Angel looks flabbergasted. “You—How?”

“No curse for me.” Spike and Giles have told him about Angel and his curse. “It’s another long story. Short version—I never lost it when I was turned.”

Angel collapses, sitting, onto the bed. Xander puts the small pile of clothes next to him. “Here’s some stuff to wear. We can get you your own tomorrow, okay?”

Angel nods absently.

“Look, I need to get some sleep. Will you be all right here? Spike and I are right next door if you need anything.”

“I’m—I’m tired, too.”

“Okay. We can tell you anything you want to know in the morning.”

By the time Xander gets back to his room, Spike is struggling angrily with his pants, snarling at the button. Xander helps him out, then pulls off his own, and they slip under the covers. After a brief hesitation, Xander curls himself around Spike’s back.

Spike sighs and settles against him.

“You okay, pet? That was quite a jolt the witch gave you.”

“It was…strange. But I’m fine.” Actually, maybe a little more than fine, because just thinking about the event and suddenly he’s fully, achingly hard. Spike gasps a little.

“Pet?”

“Sorry, Spike. I—“

But before he can finish his apology, Spike flips them around so that he’s atop Xander, his body plastered against him from chest to toes and his soft mouth demanding access to Xander’s. It’s Xander’s turn to gasp now as his erection is compressed against Spike’s smooth, hairless groin. And that shouldn’t feel good, but shit, it really does, and it feels even better when Spike’s cool body undulates against his.

Xander pulls his lips away and gasps, “Spike?” But Spike only wiggles again and sucks roughly against Xander’s jugular.

Xander groans and grabs Spike’s ass with both hands, squeezing at the firm globes. Spike shimmies and mewls into his neck, and that’s when Xander realizes that Spike wants this—needs this—as badly as he does.

Spike suddenly pulls away from Xander’s neck and rears up on his elbows. His eyes are wild, topaz sparks sizzling through the blue, and his lips are swollen. Xander thinks he’s seen that look of desperation on his face before, but doesn’t know when. “Xan, please, Xan, please!” Spike pants, grinding himself into Xander so hard it almost hurts.

“What do you want, baby?”

Spike makes a garbled sound and Xander feels the powerful muscles under his hands clench and release, clench and release. Xander moves one hand over a bit, pressing his fingers into the cleft, searching for the puckered little opening. Spike’s movements become almost frantic, and when Xander’s middle finger brushes against the hole, Spike jerks downward, impaling himself brutally. He howls and collapses completely against Xander, creating friction along the lengths of their bodies.

Xander’s still a little sensitive from the magic, and the feel of all that cold, silk-smooth skin dragging up and down against his might be nearly enough to make him come. But there’s also that hard, wrong, pressure rubbing against his voracious cock and heavy balls, and the tight tunnel around his finger as Spike furiously fucks himself, and the jagged breaths puffing against his face, and the rumbling purr of Spike’s chest, and the heady scent of Spike’s arousal, and of Spike’s blood—a drop or two of which has escaped due to the rough treatment of Spike’s delicate tissues—and the tickle of Spike’s soft curls against his cheek, and then suddenly Spike changes and he strikes, his fangs sinking deeply into Xander’s neck, and they both grow rigid and then Spike is bucking erratically against him and Xander’s coming so hard that his vision grays and he nearly passes out for the second time that night.

Spike’s movements slow and he retracts his teeth, licking tenderly at the tiny wounds. His face shifts back and Xander reaches up and caresses it, running his thumbs across the brows and down the cheekbones. Spike’s eyes are glittering.

“I’m still yours tonight, Xan?” His voice is hoarse, as if he’s been screaming for hours.

“Mine, sweetheart.” _Always_, he wants to add, but he doesn’t know if that’s what Spike wants to hear.

Spike makes a choking sound and collapses again, his cheek pressed against Xander’s. Xander wraps his arms around the other vampire’s waist and they fall asleep like this, Xander loving the reassuring weight of Spike on top of him.

[Chapter 13b](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/15915.html#cutid1)


	19. 13b Resurrection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)  for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 13b: Resurrection**_  
**Chapter Title:** 13b Resurrection   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)  for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

Early again today because right now I have a clear shot at the computer. Long, exciting (I hope!) chapter.

****This chapter is in 2 parts.** **

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)  
---  
  
A quiet knock at their door wakes them up.

“Come in,” he rasps, and the door swings open. Angel stands there in his borrowed clothes, his hair mussed and his mouth slightly open at the sight of Xander and Spike entwined with one another.

“I, uh…was wondering if, um…could I get something to eat?”

“Sure. I’m not sure what’s in the kitchen, but help yourself.”

Spike blinks sleepily and yawns. “’M hungry, too. Think there’s blood left? We were running low yesterday.”

Xander gives him a small kiss on the forehead. “I think Giles and Jane brought us some more when they came over. Want me to heat some up?”

Spike yawns again. “Yeah. Guess I’ll get up, too.”

They throw off the covers and stand and damned if Angel doesn’t blush a little at their nudity. Then he spies the devastation to Spike’s groin and he gasps.

“William!”

Spike stands still, displaying himself, his face stony.

Unmindful of his own nakedness, Xander moves between the two of them, shielding Spike from the shocked eyes, pressing his chest against Spike’s. He enfolds Spike in his arms. Spike allows his head to fall forward onto Xander’s shoulder.

“Did you kill them slowly, Xander?” Angel’s voice is a low growl.

Of course, Xander only remembers staking Walsh, and it’s Spike who answers, his voice slightly muffled by Xander’s skin. “None of them had easy deaths. The one who cut me, he burned.” Xander remembers the charred spot on the floor of the slaughterhouse and shudders a little. “And Walsh. Xan turned her, and then dusted her when she rose.” And Xander remembers how much he’d hated her, even before he knew what she’d done, and how fulfilling it had felt to drive the stake home.

Angel gives a little grunt, of satisfaction maybe.

Xander presses a kiss against the nape of Spike’s neck and then moves away to grab Spike’s jeans. Angel watches, frowning, as Xander helps him put them on, then fastens them for him. Then Xander pulls his own on as well.

Xander leads the way into the kitchen. He motions Spike and Angel towards the chairs and then rummages around in the fridge. He emerges with two packets of blood and a cardboard box of leftover pizza. “This okay?” he asks Angel, waving the box at him.

“Sure. I haven’t had—Sure. It’s fine.”

Xander zaps a couple slices of pizza and brings them over to the table as the blood heats. When the microwave dings again, he joins the others at the table.

Angel’s face is stubbly and there are dark shadows under his eyes. But he digs into the food well enough. Xander’s just bringing the remaining slices to the table when Willow appears in the doorway, still clad in pink and green pajamas. She freezes when she sees Angel, and so does he, the piece of pizza halfway to his mouth.

“Angel?” she says in a tiny voice.

He drops the food on the plate and lurches to his feet.

“Willow?”

There’s a brief moment of hesitation and then she throws herself forward and against him, enveloping his large frame in her arms. He embraces her, too, and bends down as if to sniff at her hair. The lean together for a long time, and Willow’s slightly teary when they pull apart. She reaches up and strokes his face.

“How are you feeling, Angel?”

“You—you did this? You brought me here?”

“With a lot of help. From Xander and Spike and Giles—he’s here, too. Has anyone called him yet?—and his fiancée, Jane, and Todd and Pan, and you don’t know them but they’re demons, nice ones.”

Angel looks overwhelmed and he sits back down.

“Red,” says Spike softly. “We haven’t explained anything yet. Last night we were all too…tired.”

Angel shoots Spike a glance and Xander realizes that even without the vampire hearing, Angel is fully aware of what Spike and Xander were up to after they went to bed. He shrugs. Not like it’s a secret anyway.

Willow pours herself a glass of milk and, after chugging it, grabs a banana off the counter. “Are you up to hearing it all now?” she asks, peeling the fruit.

Angel nods.

“Maybe…. How about if I call Giles, and he and Jane can join us? He’s good at explaining. Is that okay?”

It’s not clear exactly who she’s asking, but all three of them nod this time, and Spike adds, “I’ll call Zilla, too. Let him know nobody’s been eaten.”

Except for the pint or so of Eau de Xander that Spike consumed last night. But Xander doesn’t say that aloud. He has the feeling it might freak the humans out a little.

Soon enough, six of them are gathered in the living room. Angel and Giles had greeted each other somewhat stiffly, but Jane had shaken Angel’s hand and smiled warmly at him.

Now Angel’s sitting nervously in the chair, while the other humans are sharing the couch. Xander and Spike are sitting on cushions and leaning against the wall, and Xander reminds himself to ask Spike later why there seem to be some extra chair cushions in the room but no extra chair.

Nobody seems anxious to begin, and then finally Giles takes off his glasses. “Angel, perhaps you could start by briefly telling us what happened to you. Willow told us she last heard from you shortly after, erm, Buffy’s death.” His voice breaks a little on the last words and he looks down at his lap in silence for a moment. Then he sighs and looks back at Angel. “And Spike told us of your encounter at the Initiative. But in between?”

Angel squeezes his eyes closed. “I went to Chicago,” he says softly. “To find the vamp that killed…killed Buffy.”

“Did you find him?”

“Yeah.”

“Good!” Willow says loudly, and everyone looks at her.

“So, um, after…I was kinda lost. Didn’t have the heart to go back to LA anymore. I spent a few years just drifting around, I guess. And I got careless. I was in Houston when somebody shot me with something. When I woke up, I was in a cell.”

Spike says, “How long did they have you?”

Angel’s jaw muscles bunch. “Forever.”

Spike sighs and leans against Xander.

Angel’s hands are clenched into tight fists. “I don’t…don’t want to talk about the Initiative. Just…when I saw Spike…Jesus, Spike, you….” He takes a deep breath. “It was a relief to be dusted.”

“I sent you to hell.”

“I’d been there before, Spike. I knew what I was in for. And in a way, it wasn’t as bad. Because I _deserve_ what happened to me there. I earned hell. I didn’t earn the Initiative.”

Spike shudders against Xander, and Xander wonders if it’s the thought of the Initiative that causes it, or of hell.

Angel rubs his eyes and then looks around the room. “Now, would someone _please_ tell me what’s going on?”

They do.

It takes most of the day to tell him everything, and Xander listens closely, because many of the details are new to him too. Spike paces restlessly part of the time, and spends the rest plastered to Xander’s side. Many cups of tea and blood are consumed, although during one of the more difficult parts—Xander’s capture and conversion, actually—Giles brings in a bottle of scotch and they all polish that off as well.

They take a break at one point to order in some Chinese. Angel seems to be enjoying his return to solid food—there hadn’t been any pizza or kung pao for him when he was last human, and he says he was never much for eating as a vampire. Spike and Xander, on the other hand, like the spicy noodles. Xander likes feeding them to Spike, too, and thinks of some fun games they could play in private.

It’s a little awkward when Willow explains specifically why they brought Angel back. The poor guy might be upset to learn they hadn’t really extracted him from hell for his own sake, but rather to help Xander and Spike. But Angel seems philosophical about it, as if he didn’t expect that anyone would intend to rescue him anyway. He asks whether his blood will still help, even though he’s no longer a vampire, and Willow says that she thinks it will.

There’s a long silence when the tale is finally finished.

“Angel? How…how do you feel about, y’know, no more grr?”

And for the first time, Angel smiles a little, and Xander remembers how handsome he is. “It’s nice to be alive. I never thought…. Well, it’s nice.”

“You can go out in the sun again.”

Angel’s eyes get big at this and he glances at the fabric-covered window, but it’s too late. The sun has already set. Willow smiles. “Tomorrow morning. We can go for a walk.” Xander feels a small pang at this—he can’t even remember seeing the sun. Neither can Spike, of course, and Xander hears him sigh softly.

“When are you going to…fix…Xander and Spike?”

“Whenever you’re all ready. We can do it tomorrow, if you want.”

Xander clears his throat. “I want you to do me first.” Spike blinks at him. “In case…if something goes wrong, there’s no point in both of us—“

“Xan, no. Don’t want you to be the guinea pig. Let me. I’m already—“

But Xander has been thinking about this and he shakes his head stubbornly. “No way. I’m serious about this, Spike. Me first.”

Spike glares at him in a way that suggests he plans to take up this argument later, but he says nothing.

Giles doesn’t look happy either, but if he can withstand Spike’s dirty looks, he can certainly ignore Giles’s. Willow chews her lip a little. “Okay, well, we can decide later, right? But I think one at a time is probably a good idea.”

Unexpectedly, it’s Jane who speaks next. She’s said very little all day, mostly sitting very still and listening to the others, pale and frowning. Xander suspects that Giles had previously told her mostly just some sketchy details. Now, though, she turns towards Angel.

“Darling? How long were you in hell?”

Angel shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s…time doesn’t have much meaning there.”

“And this scheme to use your blood—you’re all right with it?”

“It’s fine. If I can help…. Yeah, it’s fine.”

“We won’t need much,” Willow says. “And it won’t be like that time with Drusilla and, um, Spike.”

Everybody looks at Spike, who drops his head guiltily. Xander gives his knee a squeeze.

There’s another awkward silence. Angel is frowning, and Xander doesn’t think it’s because of what happened with Spike and Drusilla.

“Angel?” he says. “Whatever happens with me and Spike, you can stay here as long as you want. I mean, you still have a house in Sunnydale, and maybe other places too, but if you want…well, stay, okay?”

“Yeah,” Spike says quietly.

Angel looks surprised, and maybe relieved. He swallows and nods.

Suddenly, a whole day of sitting around and talking about unpleasant things becomes too much for Xander. He jumps up, startling everyone a little. Then he pulls Spike to his feet.

“Guys? I need to get out for a while. Spike, come with?” Spike nods. “Anyone else?”

There are no more takers. Giles and Jane head back to their hotel, while Angel and Willow seem set for a long discussion about Buffy. Xander laces up Spike’s Docs and they head to Ricky’s.

 

They could drive. Todd and Pan have been reminding him how, and Giles and Willow both have rental cars parked in the driveway. But it’s not that far, really, and Xander wants to burn off some energy. He and Spike run the whole way. The cool air feels good right now, and he likes the smooth rolling of his muscles and the thumps of his feet against the cement. Spike enjoys it, too, and even grins a little when Xander challenges him to race the last half mile. He grins even more when he reaches the bar’s front door while Xander’s still a stride behind.

Ricky’s is quiet tonight, and the regulars have already learned to stay away from Xander. He doesn’t mind. He wasn’t particularly itching for a fight tonight anyway. He just needed to get out of the house.

He and Spike stand at the bar, sipping at beers. The regulars have also learned not to notice when Xander pulls out a straw and plunks it in Spike’s glass. The last demon to laugh at that sight—a pus-colored blob of Hkonactl—learned what it feels like to have a straw imbedded in its single pink and orange eyeball.

“Angel seems to be handling things pretty well,” Xander says. “Considering.”

Spike nods.

“You don’t mind, do you? That I invited him to stay?”

“Nah, pet. That was nice. Figure we owe him at least that, yeah?”

They stay at Ricky’s for a couple of hours, drinking slowly, watching a T’ritha hustle a couple of other demons at pool. They speculate a while on what a hell for vampires is like, and then both decide they’d rather not know. Spike tells Xander some stories about Angel, things he can’t remember himself, but read about in the watchers’ diaries.

The full moon is shining brightly as they leave, and a dog that isn’t a dog at all is skulking around the side of the building. It avoids them, though, and they leave it be.

They walk back home at a leisurely pace, silent, each lost in his own thoughts. They’re about halfway home when, without warning, Spike pushes him into a dark alley. His first thought is that something is attacking them, or maybe needing attacking, but then Spike is launching himself so strongly against him that Xander’s thrown up against the brick wall. The air thuds out of his startled lungs and directly into Spike’s, because Spike is pressing his mouth greedily against Xander’s.

Xander responds, parting his lips and allowing Spike’s invading tongue to slip inside, enjoying the flavors of beer and peanuts and blood. Spike’s handless arms are digging restlessly under Xander’s light jacket and at his shirt, and, as Spike emits a soft whine of frustration, Xander lifts the shirt so that Spike has contact with the skin of his belly and waist. Spike sighs against him in satisfaction.

Xander starts to wrap his own arms around Spike, but Spike shakes them off impatiently and Xander presses them against the rough wall instead.

Spike finally breaks the suction of their mouths, only to trail his wet lips down the scar on Xander’s face, under his jawline, and down his neck. He sucks there for a few moments and Xander’s cock responds eagerly to the stimulation, pushing uncomfortably against jeans that are suddenly two sizes too tight.

He expects Spike to bite him. Night, alley, vampire, bite. It all goes together. But Spike doesn’t even drop his fangs, instead remaining in human guise as he suckles at Xander’s tender skin. The stumps of his arms are soft, tracing circles on Xander’s sides. It almost tickles and Xander shivers. He starts to say something—he’s not sure what—but then Spike ducks his head a little and starts suckling on Xander’s nipple instead, and his ability to speak coherently deserts him.

Spike sucks and licks and nibbles, and Xander’s cock throbs insistently against the denim and metal and his balls feel like lead balloons. Just when Xander thinks he can’t stand it a moment longer, and as he tries to moan out a protest of some kind, Spike switches to the other nipple. Xander’s head falls back, bashing against the brick hard enough to have bruised, had he still been human.

He tries again to touch Spike, but Spike pushes his hands away.

Now Spike is kissing and licking down the center of his body. His lips are warm from friction and each kiss feels like a little drop of fire against Xander’s cold skin.

Spike has reached Xander’s waist now and he drops gracefully onto his knees. Xander wonders how he’s going to manage the fastenings, but it turns out Spike does just fine, deftly undoing the button with his lips and then using his teeth to unzip.

Xander supposes he wore underwear before he was turned—his dresser has a drawerful of boxers—but he hasn’t bothered since. With Spike around it’s more interesting to go commando, and anyway he’s decided he likes the little frictiony rub of fabric against him. So when Spike undoes the zipper now, his cock pops freely out, engorged and demanding and already leaking.

Spike peppers the head with tiny little kisses.

For just a second, reason returns to Xander’s brain.

“Spike, you don’t have to do—“

Spike snarls up at him, his human teeth sparkling in the moonlight. “You need this!” he growls. But under the mask of anger, Xander catches a flash of something else entirely. Sadness and fear. Spike is terrified of something, but before Xander can ask him, he swoops down, swallowing Xander in one smooth movement.

Xander smashes his head against the wall again, but he’s thankful for the wall nonetheless, because without its support he’d be falling. He glances down at the bobbing honey curls, at the eyes closed in concentration, but the sight is too much and instead he rolls his head back and stares at the sky. The moon is laughing at him, an amnesiac fledge getting blown in an alley, and he grimaces back at it. _Fuck off, moon_, he wants to yell. _Go laugh at somebody else_. But all he can manage is a loud moan.

Spike’s arms are still raised, almost as if in supplication, the rounded ends pressing gently into Xander’s stomach.

Spike swallows again, taking Xander’s long cock in so far that his nose is pressed firmly into the skin of Xander’s groin. Xander moans again and feels himself exploding, his come shooting so deeply down Spike’s throat that Spike doesn’t even have to swallow.

Spike sucks gently for a moment more then pulls off with a wet slurping sound. He carefully licks the entire organ clean and then rises to his feet. Without saying a word, without even making eye contact, he spins around and stomps out of the alley.

By the time Xander has fumbled his pants closed and managed to get his legs operational, Spike’s already a block ahead.

 

Spike avoids him the next day.

As promised, Willow takes Angel on a long stroll in the sunlight. Giles and Jane remain at their hotel, resting up for tonight’s festivities. Xander gets tired of chasing Spike around the small house from one room to another, Spike’s only response to Xander’s questions being a frown or a glare. Finally, Xander heads upstairs where he pounds the shit out of some lumber and drywall.

Everybody’s too nervous to eat dinner and the Chinese leftovers end up back in the fridge, untouched. Even the vampires can only sip desultorily at their blood.

Willow disappears for a while and then, at long last, reappears. “Okay,” she breathes. “I’m ready.”

Although Spike says, and Walsh’s notes verify, that the original wipes occurred over several days, Willow thinks that the repairs can be done all at once. He hopes so—he doesn’t want to drag this on any longer than necessary.

They’ve agreed to set it up in their bedroom. Hell of a lot more comfortable than that cold steel gurney, Xander is sure. There is a small array of fluids on poles, and Willow’s laptop is set up on the nightstand. Some long wires are attached to the laptop.

Spike takes one look and backs into a corner, teeth bared and nostrils flaring. It doesn’t bother Xander as much—he doesn’t remember being wiped.

Xander walks to Spike’s corner of the room and takes his head in his hands. Spike’s eyes are showing white all around the blue irises. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “It’ll be fine. I love you. I’ll always love you, Spike.”

Spike squeezes his eyes tight and then opens them. He smashes his mouth against Xander’s and wraps his arms tightly enough around him almost to have suffocated Xander, had he needed to breathe. Xander runs his fingers through the soft curls at the back of Spike’s head. Finally, with great effort, Spike tears himself away. He crosses his arms protectively around his chest and leans his forehead into the corner. Xander gives him a last stroke on his back and then turns back to Willow, Angel, and Giles. Jane is in the kitchen, ready if she’s needed for emergency tea supplies or something.

“Okay.” Xander tries to smile. “Let’s do it.”

Willow turns a little pink. “Xan, you need to…take off your clothes. So I can get to your veins, and….”

“That’s the second time this week you’ve made me strip, Willow. I’m beginning to wonder.” It’s a lame joke, but it relaxes them a bit.

“Still gay, Xander,” Willow replies with a smile.

Xander quickly strips. He’s not embarrassed. Everyone in the room has already seen him in the buff anyway.

At Willow’s gesture, he lies down on his bed. Angel’s taken custody back of his red quilt, so now there’s a blue one there instead. Xander is on top of it.

Willow attaches a few electrodes to his head. His hair is still little more than stubble, so it’s easy to do. He wonders for a moment whether they’ll have to shave Spike’s head. He hopes not.

Now Willow is sticking needles into him. One in his groin, one inside each elbow, and one in each wrist. He feels like a pincushion.

Giles waves his arm, and Xander sees that the man is clutching several sets of handcuffs. “Xander, this might be quite…painful. I’d prefer not to restrain you, but if you feel like you can’t remain still, please let me know.”

“Okay, Giles.” He hopes he can maintain control of himself. He so does not want those cuffs on him, and he’s also concerned that he might hurt someone if they try to hold him down. Spike’s the only one in the room who’s really a match for his strength, and of course his condition limits what he can do.

“Xan, I think this’ll work better if you’re fangy.”

Obligingly, Xander vamps out. Usually he enjoys the sharpened sensory information this brings him, but right now, that just means he’s better able to smell the acrid scent of fear in the room. And he can hear the rush as three rapidly beating hearts send blood racing around three warm bodies. Giles needs to watch his blood pressure.

Willow kneels in front of the laptop and presses a few buttons, then steps back. “Okay,” she says softly.

In the corner, Spike makes a choked sound.

“Spike, I understand if this is too much for you. You don’t have—“

“I’m not a bloody coward!” Spike nearly roars.

Xander answers gravely, calmly. “I know that, sweetheart.”

Everyone waits tensely, and soon there’s an odd itching feeling, as if something is trying to crawl under Xander’s skin. He twitches. He has to bite his lip to keep from scratching at himself, but then of course he punctures his own skin. Willow wipes the bit of blood with a Kleenex she has handy.

Soon, the itching changes to burning. It feels as if his veins are filled with Draino, and he’s seriously thinking about giving in and asking for the cuffs, when an odd feeling starts in his head. It’s like a bunch of tiny little people are carving away with pickaxes. It doesn’t exactly hurt, but every time there’s another strike, the room seems to dim a little and move away.

He’s beginning to lose consciousness.

“Spike!” he cries desperately, and then he realizes that Spike is there, kneeling beside him, rubbing at his hand.

“I’ll tell her to stop.”

“No! No, don’t.” It’s getting difficult to talk, as if his mouth were filling with sand. “Just stay close. Please.”

“Right here, pet.”

“Don’t go.”

“I won’t.”

“I lo—“

And then he falls into a bottomless pit.

 

The memories wash over him like giant waves.

He’s barely caught his breath from one before the next comes crashing over him, smothering him.

He’s four years old and he’s taken his parents’ alarm clock apart to see what time looks like. His father catches him and spanks his bottom until he can’t sit right for days.

He’s nineteen, a new recruit, and for the first time in his life he finds himself beyond the confines of Southern California. Louisville, Kentucky seems foreign, almost alien, to him. On this morning in early February, it feels bitterly cold as well, and he shivers inside his new Army regulation jacket.

He’s eight, sitting in front of the tv at Willow’s house, eating cold cereal and watching old Batman reruns.

He’s twenty-five, signing the papers for the mortgage on his very own house.

He’s seventeen, sitting in a dusty library and pretending to be looking for information on the demon of the week, while actually daydreaming about sex.

He’s sixteen, terrified as Angel offers him to Spike in the school hallway.

He’s twenty-three, dancing drunk, sweaty, and shirtless at a gay bar in LA.

He’s ten, camping out in his yard on Christmas. He has a flashlight and a pile of comic books, and he’s stolen a thermosful of spiked eggnog.

He’s thirteen, hurling into a toilet bowl with a nasty case of the stomach flu.

He’s eighteen, standing in the damp basement and pulling on his scratchy fast-food uniform.

He’s fifteen, watching Buffy Summers enter Sunnydale High the very first time.

He’s twenty-three, standing straight and tall and informing General Shales that he likes to fuck men.

He’s twenty-eight, watching a vampire he knows get tortured and molested right in front of him.

He’s six, quietly building a city out of blocks.

He’s thirteen, peering in the mirror to see if he has a moustache yet.

He’s four, watching his mother put on makeup and a fancy dress. He likes the babysitter, who lets him stay up past bedtime and share junk food with her. Her name is Colleen and she has long blonde hair.

He’s eighteen, losing his virginity in a cheap motel room to a vampire slayer.

He’s twenty-eight, comforting a terrorized vampire who’s just had another terrible nightmare.

He’s ten, ignoring what Mrs. Pickens has to say about long division and waiting for the lunch bell to ring.

He’s twenty-six, allowing himself to be picked up by a dark-skinned man named Paolo.

He’s twenty, feeling a Kleynach demon’s claws give him a prominent scar down the side of his face.

He’s twenty-six, building a bookcase.

He’s seventeen, carrying around an egg for some stupid school assignment.

He’s twenty-nine, feeling a vampire pull the last dregs of life out of his body.

He’s twenty-one, touching another man’s cock for the first time.

He’s eight, going on a class field trip to a farm. He thinks the chickens and pigs are stinky, but he likes to pet the pony’s soft nose. He wishes he had a pony, too.

He’s twenty-eight, opening a door at a former military base and catching sight of the bound and tortured body inside.

He’s fifteen, badly flunking a French exam.

He’s twenty, stuck in an endless queue at Heathrow, about to miss his airplane.

He’s eleven, looking at his mother passed out on the living room floor.

He’s twenty-two, eating a double hamburger with bacon on it.

He’s eighteen, seeing a giant snake thing eat Principal Snyder.

He’s twenty-nine, sitting uselessly and refusing to cooperate as the vampire he loves is raped and mutilated.

Oh, God.

 

[Chapter 14](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/16255.html#cutid1)


	20. 14 Recollection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 14: Recollection**_  
**Chapter Title:** 14 Recollection   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

 

Look! It's the next chapter, in which lots of things happen. Some better than others.

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)  
---  
  
      Xander is crying.

At first he screamed a lot.

Then he curled into a ball and started sobbing.

Sometimes he stops for a while, his brown eyes staring sightlessly at nothing. He doesn’t respond when Spike talks to him, doesn’t react to any of Spike’s touches or kisses. He doesn’t breathe then, either, and he looks like nothing except the corpse of a man who’s died a terrible death.

Sometimes he flails with his arms and legs, as if he’s drowning.

Mostly he cries.

Willow has removed all the needles and wires and they’ve taken all the equipment away. Spike has tucked Xander under the blue blanket, hoping to at least keep him warm. There’s nothing else he can do.

Someone’s dragged in one of the kitchen chairs and the humans are taking turns sitting with Xander, keeping vigil. Spike never leaves his side, though, never loses contact with his body for more than a moment. He barely notices when someone occasionally waves a mug of blood in front of his face, holding it there insistently until he drinks.

He has no idea how much time has passed.

He brushes a stump across Xander’s face, wiping away a fresh batch of tears. He can’t do this. He can’t.

But he does.

And then suddenly, Xander makes a horrible gargling noise and his entire body goes rigid as a board. His eyes roll back in his head and he starts thrashing violently around, his muscles seizing completely at random. Spike has to hop on top of him to keep him from throwing himself off the bed, and it’s like riding a bucking bronco.

He stops as suddenly as he started, but now blood is oozing thickly from every orifice. He’s even crying bloody tears.

Giles is in the room with him. He’s thrown his book to the floor and, as Spike howls incoherently, frantic with helplessness, Giles bellows, “Angel!!”

Angel comes running in, Willow and Jane close at his heels. Willow gasps and says, “Goddess!”

Angel pulls up his sleeve so quickly that it rips, and he thrusts his wrist against Xander’s bloody mouth. But Xander isn’t aware enough to bite.

Spike seizes the offered arm and, quickly changing his face, tears savagely into the wrist. Angel winces but doesn’t pull away. Then Spike shoves the dripping appendage hard against Xander’s teeth.

After a moment that lasts for decades, Xander swallows.

And swallows again.

Jane has the presence of mind to pull Angel away before Xander takes too much. And not any too soon. Angel is paler than usual and collapses against the wall, sliding down slowly to the floor. Jane runs off and comes back a moment later with a plastic jug of orange juice, which she helps Angel hold while he drinks.

Giles wraps Angel’s wound in several miles of gauze.

Spike licks his lips absently. Even human, Angel tastes wonderful.

Xander’s bleeding has stopped and, although his eyes are still tightly closed, he looks peaceful. Willow takes a damp cloth and cleans his face.

Another eternity passes.

And then Xander’s eyes crack slowly open. He blinks, his gaze flickering around the room. It stops on Spike.

“Spike,” he croaks, his voice almost gone. Spike nearly faints.

“Can’t…forgive…Spike….”

Spike looks into those familiar brown eyes and realizes two things at once. Xander is back. The spark, the depth of recognition, the accumulated history that made his Xander what he is, they’re all there. Xander remembers.

Ah, but the sadness is back, too. Xander has also remembered how Spike has been despoiled and corrupted, how Xander’s had to haul his worthless hide out of danger again and again, how Spike himself failed miserably in his efforts to save Xander and then did nothing as Xander’s sense of self was destroyed, seemingly forever.

Grief crashes through Spike, white-hot as the sun.

Blind and deaf, he backs away. The others press forward to question Xander and they don’t notice him. He backs out of the room, down the hall. He blunders against the front door and throws it open, then rushes out on the porch and down the stairs. He’s hoping for the cleansing fire but when he opens his eyes all he sees is the gibbous moon, mocking him.

He staggers across the front lawn, falling to his knees in the damp grass. Knows he has nowhere to go, no reason to be.

He lurches to his feet and runs.

It’s a cool night and he’s wearing only a thin t-shirt and jeans, but he doesn’t feel the air against his skin. He doesn’t feel the rough pavement against his tender, bare feet, either, not even when small pebbles or bits of glass lodge in his heels, causing him to leave bloody little smudges on the cement.

He runs down to the river, but he doesn’t want the glittering false promise of the highrises downtown, so he turns left, pounding through dark neighborhoods full of upholsterers and small metalworks and shipping companies, then through residential areas where all the houses are locked up tight for the night and even the dogs are too sleepy to bark. He runs past a vast railyard and over the river at last, then down roads lined with gloomy-looking trees. He runs until his thighs and his calves are burning and his lungs have given up on the futile exchange of air.

If he has any intention at all, it is to keep running to meet the dawn.

But just before the first pinks and oranges color the sky, he finds himself climbing the steps in front of a small yellow bungalow.

The watcher holds the door open for him, scowling. “Where the bloody hell have you been? Xander’s been asking—“

But Spike pushes past him wordlessly.

Jane is on the couch, the white blanket pulled up to her chin. Angel and Willow are nowhere to be seen, either staying with Xander or asleep in their own beds.

He realizes he has nowhere to go in the small house, no space to call his own.

He whirls and stomps back through the still-open door, then cuts across the driveway and to the garage. Giles watches him go without saying anything.

The door to the garage is unlocked. Spike looks down at the oily, sawdusty floor, and is about to collapse in the middle of it when he spies the one spot in the world he can lay claim to. He climbs into the metal box, curling into a small ball so he fits, and he falls asleep.

 

Willow is holding the tool mug in her hands.

“Spike? Are you all right?”

He doesn’t answer, but when she places the mug on the floor next to him, he sips through the pink and white straw.

“Will you come in the house now? Please?”

He stabs his arm toward the small beam of light coming through the garage’s single window. “Can’t.”

Willow walks to the other side of the room and returns with a blue plastic tarp. “This will work, I think. It’s only a few feet, and it’s pretty cloudy out anyway. Xander needs to talk to you, Spike.”

He doesn’t want to talk to Xander. Doesn’t want to have to hear the words he knows Xander will say. Oh, Xan’ll probably be decent about it—he’s not one to be cruel—but pretty words won’t change the meaning.

Willow looks at him expectantly and he slowly rises to his feet, stretching his cramped and sore muscles. He curses himself for being a fool and a coward, and throws the plastic sheet over his head.

Xander is sitting up in bed, looking weak but much improved over the night before. He gives Spike a wan smile. “Hi, Spike,” he says quietly.

“Xander.”

“It worked. I remember everything.”

Spike looks down at his battered feet. “That’s…that’s good.”

“Look, Spike. Apologies aren’t going to change anything, are they?”

“No. They won’t.”

Xander sighs heavily. “I don’t know where…. I don’t know how to move on from this.”

“No need. I’ll leave tonight.” He can’t meet Xander’s eyes at all.

“You can’t, Spike. Your hands!”

So maybe Xander still cares about him a bit. Spike shakes his head. “I’ll manage.”

“Jesus, Spike. At least…at least let Willow fix your memories.”

Spike doesn’t want to remember. He wants to forget. To forget the agony and anguish and humiliation of his repeated captivities, the horror of seeing Xander dead and in pain and damaged, the wrenching heartbreak of losing the only precious thing he has. He wishes he could just remember one thing—that for a short while, a good man had loved him.

But he nods and says “All right.” Maybe if he remembers his past, he’ll become the old Spike, the one he’s read about in the diaries. Maybe then he won’t care about foolish things like love.

Xander relaxes a bit against the pillows. “Good. Will says it’ll take her a couple days to get set up again, and I guess Angel needs to replenish his blood supply.”

“Fine.”

“Spike, Willow said you slept in the garage. You don’t have to do that. You can have our…have this bed.”

Spike curses at himself again, but can’t stop himself from grasping at whatever tiny shreds of comfort he can still reach. “Guess we can…we can share the bed a few more nights, yeah?”

Xander’s expression is unreadable, but he says, “Okay. Yeah, we can do that.”

Willow comes in then and Spike leaves the two old friends alone. He wanders into the living room, where he sees someone has left the telly on to a talk show. He curls up on the couch and stares blankly as some anonymous pop star talks about her newest CD.

The day wears on. Giles and Jane come by for a short while to visit with Xander, but Giles looks at Spike angrily and doesn’t say anything to him. Jane just smiles. Willow doesn’t say much either, just brings him occasional cups of blood.

It’s nearly dark when he realizes he hasn’t seen any sign of Angel all day. Curiosity gets the better of him and he pads down the hallway to peek in the guest room doorway.

Angel is sitting on the bed, his long legs drawn up in front of him. He’s still wearing Xander’s borrowed clothes, and his head is resting on his knees. There’s a wide bandage on his wrist.

After several minutes, he looks up at Spike. His eyes are haunted.

“Angel? You okay, mate?”

Angel blinks at him. “No. I’m not okay.”

Spike nods. He understands.

“After all they did to you, how are you managing, Spike?”

How is he managing? He’s bloody well falling apart, is all. But he doesn’t say this to Angel. He merely shrugs.

Angel puts his head back down on his knees, and after a while, Spike wanders back to the couch.

The house is quiet when Spike returns to Xander’s bedroom. Xander is awake, sitting in bed and looking towards his dresser. He turns toward Spike.

Spike looks at a spot two feet to the left of Xander’s head. “I’d like to take a shower. I think I can manage the taps myself, but I can’t undo these bloody buttons.”

Xander waves him over, and Spike has to bite at his lip as Xander unfastens his trousers for him. He kicks them off and goes into the bathroom. With some difficulty and a neat bit of balancing, he’s able to use his foot to turn on the shower. He can’t shampoo or scrub properly, but the hot water feels good and washes away most of the grime from last night.

When he walks back into the bedroom, Xander’s pretending to already be asleep. Spike slips under the covers and inhales deeply, enjoying the scent of the vampire on the other side of the big bed.

When the screams begin he instinctively reaches for Xander, only to find Xander reaching back for him in confusion. They blink at each other for a moment before another cry peals out, and then they both stumble out of bed and down the hall.

Angel is curled up in a corner of the room, nude and howling, nearly exactly like Spike had been just a few months ago. The vampires kneel next to him, patting him gently with hands and stumps until his eyes regain their focus and the noises stop.

“Sorry,” he rasps. “Nightmare.”

They’re both more than familiar with dreams like those. They help Angel back to his feet and into bed, then return to their own room and burrow back under the covers.

Less than an hour later, the entire scene is repeated.

This time, though, Xander looks at Spike, who nods. Xander says, “You can’t say I never learn. Angel, please come with us.”

Angel trails behind them into their room. He puts up only the smallest token of resistance before climbing into their bed. He lies on his side, facing Spike, and the vampires immediately sandwich him, pushing in a little against his heat.

It’s odd for Spike to feel that strange yet familiar body at his back, odder still to hear the strong beat of the once-dead heart. Angel’s scent envelopes him, and that’s familiar too.

When he next wakes, a heavy arm is draped across his flank and there’s a quiet snoring in his ear. Angel’s long, soft cock is nestled comfortably against his buttocks, and he shivers a little at the memory of that cock in his mouth, in his arse.

There are no more bad dreams that night.

 

Maybe Angel is a bit embarrassed to find himself snuggled between Spike and Xander, but they both assure him that they understand the need to be near a comforting, safe presence. Or two.

The next night, and the next several after that, he joins them in bed unquestioningly. Spike appreciates the warm bulk of him. But even more, he’s grateful to have a barrier between himself and Xander. Without Angel, there would simply be a great, empty expanse of sheets, a tangible symbol of the gulf that now separates them.

They go about their business separately during the days. Xander recovers enough to resume work upstairs. Angel huddles in the guest room. Spike sits on the couch.

Todd and Pan visit each day, delighted with Xander’s recovery. One afternoon, Todd plops down on the couch next to Spike. “Hey,” he says.

“Hi.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

Spike shakes his head. “Nothing to talk about.”

“But you and Xan—“

“No me and Xan, Zilla. It’s done.” Saying that out loud feels like he’s being stabbed in the chest.

“Jesus, Spike, you’re killing yourselves over this. And don’t tell me you’re already dead! You know what I mean.”

“Don’t you devil Xander about this! He has enough on his plate already.”

Todd sighs. “I won’t devil anyone. Just…you guys really need to have a long, honest talk with each other.”

He sighs again when Spike doesn’t respond. He hates to upset Todd, but the only things he has left now are healthy doses of denial and avoidance, and there’ll be no such talk. Todd shakes his head and walks away.

Spike wears the bloody sweatpants each day because he can get them on and off himself. He sucks his blood cold, straight out of the bag. Doesn’t taste as good that way, but he can do it without help. He finds himself longing for the flavor of Xander, too, spicy and fresh against his palate. He goes out in the evenings after dark, the ends of his arms stuffed into his pockets. He can’t manage the laces on his Docs, of course, but he can get his feet jammed into the boots, anyway, and that’s good enough.

Xander thinks to call Anya and tell her he’s been found. He gives her a severely edited version of what happened and, Spike hears, avoids her probing questions about him and Spike. He doesn’t tell her he’s been turned. Xander calls Dan as well, tells him that he’d been kidnapped by government agents but is fine now. He tells him he misses work but could only come in at night now; he’s vague about why. Dan apparently tells him he’ll think on it.

Giles and Jane announce that they’ll return to England as soon as Willow’s done with Spike. Spike’s surprised they’ll stay that long. Giles is quietly furious with him and Jane just looks at him sadly. Willow says she’ll go back to Boston as soon as possible, too. Her family and job are waiting for her.

At night, Xander, Angel, and Spike all head to bed at the same time. They strip and crawl into bed, then huddle against each other, all without talking. Although Spike often feels Angel’s erection pressing against him, as he supposes Angel feels Xander’s, they don’t fuck. The consolation they seek from each other is more primitive than that. A certain amount of slightly frustrated, subtle wiggling does take place, however, and Spike wants…well, he wants. But all he does is collect these last few nights of grace like jewels he can hoard away to admire later.

 

Willow is ready again. She’s nervous that Spike’s recovery might be more difficult, because his wipe was done at least a couple of years ago, and because he has over a century more of memories than Xander.

Spike is terrified.

Not so much of the process itself—he’s endured far worse pain than that, and if he’s dusted, well, that’s only hastening the inevitable.

It’s the outcome that scares him. He’s built up a version of himself over the past year or so. Probably not the best version, but, for better or worse, it’s who he is. But a person is made of his experiences, and he’s afraid that his old memories will destroy the new Spike, as surely as the wipe destroyed the old one. And he has no idea what the result will be.

Todd had offered to be there, but Spike had demurred. The boy’s seen him in extremis enough times already. The watcher is there, though, watching. Angel stands in the corner of the room with his hands shoved in the pockets of a pair of new trousers.

Xander’s there, too, and although they’ve hardly spoken in days, he sits on the side of the bed and runs his fingers through Spike’s curls. Spike is intensely grateful for this and he tries to convey that gratitude with his eyes.

Willow finishes attaching the last of the electrodes—she didn’t have to shave Spike’s head, fortunately—and stands back to examine her work. The IV lines are already snaking into his bare body. The handcuffs are piled nearby, although nobody’s bothered to work out how they’ll secure his arms if the need arises.

“Ready?” Willow says, and he swallows and nods. She plays with her computer a few moments, and then it’s begun.

Having watched Xander go through this, he expects the itching and the burning, and withstands them with gritted fangs. Unexpectedly, though, the swirling in his head carries the sense echo of the time the Initiative wiped him, and with that comes the distant but awful memory of the horror he’d felt when his mind was first stripped. He dimly hears himself whimpering and moaning, and is it possible that Xander is really planting soft kisses on his heavy brow? No, wishful thinking, he decides, and falls off the cliff.

 

The suckhouse was behind a boarded-up storefront near the intersection of the Mission and Castro districts. It was a dingy place, peeling grayish walls and an assortment of splintery chairs. Someone had hung a poster on one wall, perhaps in a misguided attempt to cheer the place up, but the faded and torn _Starry Night_ only added to the dismal atmosphere.

Spike felt like a whore there, and the blood he was paid to drink was often tainted by the off-tastes of drugs or disease. Still, it was blood, and because the humans were willing—eager, actually—the chip never gave him more than a cursory pang as he sank his fangs into the sweaty necks.

The owner of the place, a taciturn Arpoat with thinning blue hair and peeling skin, rented him a room, too. It was really just a windowless closet, but it had a mattress, and it was a place to lay his head during daylight hours. He’d slept rougher than that.

In the end, he had a bellyful and a bed, and a few dollars left over to spend on cigarettes and whiskey.

He liked the city. The throngs of shivering tourists, browsing the tacky souvenir shops at Fisherman’s Wharf or lining up for the cable cars. The slightly blowsy Victorian houses, none of them older than the Victorian who stalked underneath them in the darkness. The dazzling array of restaurants, from the Vietnamese sandwich places in the Tenderloin to the clam-chowder-in-a-sourdough-bowl joints at the wharf. The huge freighters arriving full of cargo from China. The cultivated celebration of eccentricity. The dense fog that sometimes allowed him to prowl around mid-day.

Maybe it wasn’t much of an unlife for any vampire, let alone William the Bloody. But it was the best he could manage with the bit of plastic those wankers shoved in his brain, and he could always find a nice demon or two to brawl with if he chose to.

He was gradually getting used to Drusilla’s final desertion, maybe even becoming accustomed to being alone, for the first time in his long existence. There were no slayers here, anyway, and Angel and his do-gooding lot, not to mention the Initiative tossers, were hundreds of miles away.

And when the solitude got too much, it was always easy to find a warm body to sink his cock into, if not his fangs, and to pretend for an hour or two that he was content.

He had just emerged from the suckhouse. He was feeling pleasantly full, a little buzzed from whatever chemical concoction tonight’s donor had ingested. He thought he might head to a bar he knew, have a drink or three, look for a tumble of one kind or another. He stopped to light a cigarette, shielding the flame from the slight breeze, when he was hit by a vicious sting in the chest. He looked down at the tiny wound, confused, and then he passed out.

He knew as soon as his vision cleared where he was. Strapped to a table, naked, a gag in his mouth and the white tile glaring all around him.

A man in a white coat was between his bent and spread legs, poking at his flaccid cock. The man looked up when Spike tensed. “It’s awake, Professor,” he called.

There was a clicking of heels and there was Maggie Walsh in all her glory, shiny clipboard clutched to her chest. “Seventeen!” she said. “So good to have you as our guest again. We’ve made some changes, since you evidently found our accommodations not to your liking last time.”

He growled at her, but it was an unsatisfying growl with the gag in place. He pulled uselessly at his bonds and yearned to sink his teeth into her, chip be damned. He’d endure the pain.

She looked down at her clipboard and tapped it a few times with her pen. “Yes…I think we’re almost ready to get started. Just a few preliminaries to take care of first. People?”

At her last word, a small army of people in lab coats hurried over. They prodded at Spike, measuring this and sampling that. The man between his legs shoved something hard up his rectum. It started to vibrate, and then the man was roughly pulling at his cock. Spike screamed in rage as he felt himself get hard, as the other humans smirked quietly at his unwanted arousal or ignored it altogether. Walsh stood watching impassively.

The vibrations were carefully calculated and the man’s hand seemed practiced at his task. It was only a matter of minutes before Spike’s bollocks were drawing up against his body. The man wrapped something over the head of his cock and then Spike was coming, his cold, bitter semen spurting out of him as the man joylessly milked him.

At first he was relieved to have it over with. But then he realized that the thing inside him was still buzzing against his prostate and the man’s hand was still moving up and down over his rigid shaft. He screamed again.

They made him come four or five times in succession; he wasn’t certain of the count. By the time the man finally released him and pulled the plastic from his arse, his organ was throbbing and sore and his inner channel felt torn.

His body still rippled with impotent fury. When he got free he was going to hang these fuckers by their own entrails.

He was busy enough imagining horrible deaths that he missed what Walsh said. He didn’t, however, miss the slicing pain as someone ran a blade across his scalp, nor did he fail to notice the sound of the drill as it bore through his skull.

His fear and anger were so intense that he literally saw red. He roared against the gag and the flesh around his ankles, wrists, and hips tore deeply as he struggled against the fetters. But the only effect of his labor was to fuel his outrage when the straps and chains failed to give.

Last time they went in his head they inserted that infernal chip. What the fuck were they doing to him now?

Unfortunately, he soon discovered the answer to that question.

Walsh pulled out a gray plastic box and pushed a button. Horrible pain blasted through him, much worse than that caused by the old chip. His vision blurred and his ears thundered with it.

“Hmm,” someone said. “Remote control vampire.”

He still hadn’t recovered completely when Walsh ordered everyone to stand back. Several men in green fatigues stepped into view, most of them carrying rifles. One of them, a tall, good-looking bloke, approached him. “Move before you’re told and you’ll regret it,” he sneered.

Spike glared at him as he unbuckled the straps around his chest, waist, and forehead. As soon as a leg was freed, Spike kicked out, but the man easily hopped out of the way, and another jolt of agony ripped through Spike’s skull.

He was still panting when the man freed his hands. Spike lurched dizzily upright as the man jumped backwards, and then every one of those rifles was pointed at him. He didn’t care. It takes a lot of bullets to down a vampire. He launched himself towards the nearest one, but the searing pain that immediately followed drove him to his knees, and then another wave sent him crashing into unconsciousness.

They used him for a series of tests, apparently trying to see what kind of damage his body would take and how quickly he could be repaired. He was subjected to scorching heat and numbing cold. They poured various substances on him, in him—corrosives, poisons, venoms. They shot him and electrocuted him and flayed him and gassed him. They dropped him from heights, ran him over with tanks. They slowly pressed him under great weights until nearly every bone in his body was pulverized and his internal organs flattened. They exposed him to radiation, which made him retch and ache, but didn’t dust him.

He was never not in pain.

In between sessions they’d chain him down in the white room, taking their endless measurements and then force-feeding him blood until he was repaired enough for the next go.

No matter the new and improved chip, he took advantage of any small opportunity to fight back. Twice he drew blood. One time he snapped an incautious woman’s arm like a dry twig. Once he actually managed to get his fangs into an acne-scarred soldier’s throat, digging out a satisfying hunk of flesh.

Walsh frowned and fretted over him, and, any time his mouth wasn’t stuffed with a gag or worse, he spewed a stream of profanity at her culled from over a century’s worth of experience in multiple human and demon languages.

He lost nearly all the remaining shreds of his humanity to livid thoughts of savagery and revenge. The humans made him more of a monster than Angelus ever had.

His only other thought was of escape. He’d done it once, he could do it again. He just had to bide his time.

He remained fierce and confident until the day they wheeled in IV bags on stands and a computer with wires snaking out of it. They hooked it all up to him, and he had no idea of the purpose of it all until he felt his first memories being stripped away.

By the third day of the wipe the fight was gone from him.

They’d removed the gag, and he pleaded and sobbed. He promised them he’d do anything, _anything_ if they’d just stop. Just stop taking away his…self.

Just stop.

 

Over one hundred years of events and sensations and thoughts come rapidly rushing into him.

What tears him apart isn’t remembering his own death, or any of the thousands of others he’s caused. It isn’t what happened to him in the Initiative the first time, or the second. It isn’t the cruelties uttered by a woman who scorned him or a mother turned demon, and it isn’t the abandonments by Dru or Angel.

No, what rips him to shreds is the realization that none of it, _none_ of it, was as awful as losing Xander.

 

The taste of Angel is in his mouth.

He tries to open his eyes, but can only manage a slight tremble of the lids, not enough to let in any light. He can swallow, though, and he does. He thinks he makes a very small sound.

Something…oh, something insistent at his mouth, which falls open. And the press of warm skin against his fangs. Around his fangs. And more of that lovely, tingly taste in his mouth.

He swallows again, and this time he pries his eyelids open. Just a bit, perhaps, but enough. Two sets of brown eyes staring down at him, two broad bodies blocking out much of the light from the lamp in the corner.

A wrist at his mouth, and he draws weakly on the vein, feels the warm trickle into his mouth.

A hand at his brow, smoothing the curls away, tracing the lines of a scar that he now knows he received from the first slayer he killed.

“Spike?” says Xander, and he wants to answer. Tries to. Doesn’t know what he’ll say. Doesn’t matter anyway, because no sound comes out and his lips, now free of Angel’s wrist, refuse to obey him.

He blinks instead.

“Can you hear me?”

He blinks again.

Xander bows his head for a moment and then raises it again, eyes glittering. “God, Spike, do you remember?”

Yeah, he remembers. He blinks some more.

Whatever Xander asks next is lost, though, as his eyes fall closed and he tumbles back into the abyss.

 

He’s a tiny bit stronger the next day, and then a tiny bit more each day after that. He still can’t manage more than a garbled moan, can’t do more than move his limbs slightly. But he can stay awake for increasingly longer periods of time, and he can listen, and he gradually becomes more aware of his surroundings.

He’s been in bed for three months.

Three fucking months.

Everyone’s gone home, except Angel, who really has no home to go to. Who can’t make it past the front door by himself without having a panic attack, who spends hour after hour staring at blank walls.

Xander and Angel have taken turns sitting by him, watching him sleep. And now they feed him blood, nearly drop by drop, and they read to him. He doesn’t catch most of what they read, but he doesn’t care. He likes the sound of their voices.

He doesn’t understand why they’re doing this for him.

He knows now there’s never been real peace between him and his grandsire, though they’d shagged often enough, back when Spike was still a fledge. There had been rivalry, which Spike always lost, and, when Angelus was in charge, real cruelty. Angelus had taunted him by fucking Drusilla. Spike had tried to destroy Angel to save Dru. Angel sided with the slayer against Spike. Spike sided with the slayer against Angelus. The kindest thing Angel had done for Spike in a hundred years was letting him swim away from a submarine, rather than just staking him. Until he gave him back his name, that is. And now here he is, human again and playing nursemaid.

And Xander, who knows that not only is Spike the worthless piece of rubbish who couldn’t save him, but now he’s also the monster who must lay claim to more than a century’s worth of murders.

Even as he regains the ability to speak, though, he doesn’t ask either of them why.

It dawns on him one day that Xander and Angel have actually been sleeping in the chair they’ve dragged into the bedroom. They both look knackered, although whether it’s from caring for him or from their own worries, he doesn’t know. Very hesitantly, he suggests that they share the bed instead, and they both agree almost eagerly. They’re rarely there at the same time—Xander sleeps during the day, and Angel has adapted a more diurnal existence. Spike treasures their silent, sleeping company.

He never thought he’d end up sleeping peacefully with Angel. Or with Xander Harris, of all people—that awkward, smart-mouthed schoolboy who seemed to rush headlong into fights he could never win. He’d turned into a hell of man, though, hadn’t he? And then a hell of a vampire.

He doesn’t ask and he rarely speaks, but he watches and listens. And sometimes, just for a moment, clings desperately to a tiny strand of hope.

Todd visits. Pan, too, when he’s in town. He likes that.

There comes a day when he can finally sit for a few minutes unaided, his scrawny legs dangling off the side of the bed. It feels momentous. Xander smiles and says, “I have a surprise. Wanna see it?”

When Spike nods, he scoops him into his arms and carries him into the hallway. It’s the first time he’s been out of the bedroom. He thinks of all the times Xander’s carried him before. Isn’t he tired of it?

Xander takes him up the stairs, and when they reach the top, Spike gasps in surprise. Like magic, the entire upstairs has been transformed. The walls are completely framed and drywalled, painted in a creamy faux fresco. One whole wall is a built-in bookcase and weapons cabinet, beautifully wrought out of red-stained quarter-sawn oak. The floors are the same polished maple as downstairs. There’s a huge bed, its oak frame matching the bookcase. There’s a large matching chest of drawers as well. In one corner there’s a seating area with a small couch, a recliner, and a low table. It faces a flat panel telly that’s mounted on the wall, and visible from the bed as well. In another corner are a small refrigerator and microwave. The two large windows are covered with wooden shutters. The door to the bathroom is open, and Spike sees it contains a pedestal sink, a toilet, and a stone-tiled shower.

“Beautiful, pet,” he murmurs, still clutched in Xander’s arms.

Xander looks around proudly. “I like the way it turned out.”

Spike allows his head to fall against Xander’s strong shoulder. Xander’s hair has grown long and a little wild, and Spike aches to run fingers through it.

That afternoon, the three of them move their encampment upstairs. It’s more comfortable for Angel and Xander, who can lounge in the sitting area when they’re awake. When Spike’s feeling particularly alert, he can watch the telly. And when the sun goes down, Xander can open the shutters and let in the fragrant night air. Spike has slept right through the summer and the evenings are already chilly, but Xander just plugs in an electric blanket.

Right now, the highlight of Spike’s small existence occurs in the mornings, after Angel has gotten out of bed but before Xander goes to sleep. Xander brings in a plastic basin of warm, soapy water and a soft cloth, and he gently bathes Spike. He politely ignores the scent of arousal that must pour from Spike as he does this, and instead tenderly lifts Spike’s limbs and runs the towel over his skin. Then he takes a comb and slowly untangles Spike’s hair. Finally, he strips off his clothes and slides between the sheets. He sighs and rolls on his back, and his hand rests tantalizingly close. When he stops breathing and Spike’s sure he’s asleep, Spike scoots himself over just a bit, so that that calloused hand brushes against his arm.

He’s staring at the ceiling one afternoon, relishing that tiny bit of contact, when he’s truck by a revelation.

He’s still himself.

He owns his own past again, but that hasn’t changed who he is. He remembers the bravado he once sported, but that was mostly a mask anyway. William—foolish, lovesick William—was always lurking inside, somehow as strong in his own way as the demon. Maggie Walsh destroyed the mask, but the core still remains. And he still loves Xander Harris, still yearns for him. Still counts him as his only reason to go on.

He’s not sure whether he’s relieved at this or dismayed.

 

Within another month, Spike can get up and walk by himself, can slowly manage the stairs, can take a shower, can grab his own cold bags of blood. Another month after that, and he can stroll down the empty sidewalks, watching the shadows cast by the streetlamps, thinking blank thoughts.

He’s not up to full strength by any means. Perhaps he never will be. But he’s getting by.

Xander buys a new van, a twin to the old one that disappeared after Spike got caught at the abattoir. Xander has worked out some arrangement with Dan, and he spends a few hours most nights at the shop. He smells of sawdust when he gets home. Sometimes he smells of blood as well—his own, or something else’s—and Spike knows he’s blown off some steam with a fight. He never smells of sex, and Spike wonders how he manages it. Angel notwithstanding, celibacy doesn’t suit vampires well.

Angel’s still a mess. He still can’t sleep by himself without screaming nightmares. Oddly, though, he and Todd have hit it off, and he sometimes ventures out for a short time with the Stadnent. Pan, too, when he’s in town. Todd introduces him to Powell’s bookstore, and that’s their usual haunt. Now instead of staring at walls, he stares at pages in books, and Spike supposes that’s a small improvement.

Todd has finally received his masters degree. He’s no longer a barista, but instead has landed a job with the Metro Regional Center, working in planning and development. He’s wildly enthusiastic about it.

One cold night, Xander heads off to the shop. Todd has dragged Angel out of the house, too. Spike pulls on a pair of sweatpants, swearing under his breath at his inability to work buttons and snaps. He yanks a black t-shirt over his head, then shrugs on the leather coat Xander bought him last year. He pushes his feet into his unlaced boots.

He picks up Xander’s pillow and presses it against his face, inhaling deeply.

Then he walks down the stairs and out the front door.

 

[Chapter 15](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/17085.html#cutid1)


	21. 15 Dancing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 15: Dancing**_  
**Chapter Title:** 15 Dancing   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

A short chapter today as we work toward a resolution of some kind.

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)  
---  
  
        He doesn’t panic this time.

After all, he knew this was coming, probably from the day he admitted to himself he’d fallen in love. Knew Spike would leave as soon as he was able. Knew that when Spike remembered who he is, he’d want to be far away from this former doughnut boy turned demon-infested freak, far away from the creature who’d stubbornly allowed him to be tortured and maimed. Knew that the arousal he’d lately sensed was only reflexive, and that the looks of longing he thought he’d caught were only his own wishful thinking.

Still, he worries. Spike is still weak, and, while the Initiative may be dust and ashes, plenty of threats remain to a debilitated vampire. And how can Spike manage without hands? How is he feeding?

Although Angel doesn’t say anything, he’s worried, too.

Actually, Angel’s a problem right now. He still can’t really sleep alone. That part’s not the problem—Angel adjusts his schedule so he sleeps when Xander does, and, while Xander still finds the thought of it a little startling, he doesn’t mind sharing the bed with Angel’s warm bulk. Actually, he’s glad for it, because he’s not certain how he’d get through the days by himself.

The problem is when they’re awake. Angel kind of freaks if he’s left alone in the house and, honestly, Xander’s fairly hesitant to leave him unattended. He can’t help but picture coming home to find Angel hanging from the rafters, or maybe bled out in the bathtub.

Todd doesn’t mind babysitting, but he’s got a new job and he has a life of his own, and for chrissakes, hasn’t he bailed out Xander enough already? Besides, Angel knows he’s being babysat and isn’t too pleased about it.

But Xander is going to go insane if he doesn’t get out of the house.

So he drags Angel with him to work, figuring the man can brood just as well there as he can at home. Dan’s usually gone by the time they get to the shop, but even if he’s still there, packing up, he doesn’t seem to mind Angel tagging along. He doesn’t ask any questions. In fact, although he certainly must have figured out something very strange is going on with Xander, he doesn’t ask any questions at all. Just says hello and then walks out the door, taking with him his scents of patchouli and pot.

Angel brings books with him, but usually ends up mostly watching Xander work. That doesn’t bother Xander, although it does bring back bittersweet memories of Spike watching him frame the upstairs. Does Spike remember their time together with fondness at all now, or is it just something he tries not to think about at all?

 

There’s a monotonous sameness to his days, and suddenly immortality’s not looking so fun at all.

It might be better if he could get out and brawl more often, let the demons out of their room now and then, but then what’s he supposed to do with Angel? He’s certain Angel would still be a good fighter if he tried—after all, the guy’s got a couple hundred years’ worth of experience—but when he suggests visiting a demon bar, Angel pales a little and shakes his head. It’s not that Angel’s afraid of other creatures, Xander thinks, but rather that he’s afraid of himself. Not sure whether he’s a man or a monster. Xander can relate.

He’s pacing restlessly around the house one night, watching a few minutes of one DVD and then getting up to change it to another, when Angel steps in front of him. “Could I borrow some money?”

This startles Xander. “Uh, yeah. Sure. How much do you need?”

“How much is a plane ticket to LA? Or bus?”

Xander blinks at him. “You want to got to LA?”

“Sunnydale, actually, but there’s no airport there, is there?”

“Why Sunnydale?”

“You said I still have my house there.”

“Yeah, you do. At least, as of last year, you did. But why do you want to go there?”

“Look, I’ll pay you back, okay? I’ve got some money stashed here and there.”

“Angel, I don’t give a shit about the money. I was just wondering why you were so hot to leave all of a sudden.”

Angel stomps away and stares into the fireplace. “I’ve had enough of being a burden to you.”

“Jesus, Angel, you’re not a burden.” He walks closer, until he’s talking to Angel’s stiff back. “Besides, I owe you. If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be wiped. Or dust.”

Angel snorts. “I just bled a little for you. And it got me pulled out of hell, so I think we’re already even for that, Xander.”

“Okay, then, I don’t owe you. But I like the company, okay? House’d be way too empty without—by myself.”

Angel turns and throws his hands in the air. “So I’m just going to be what? Your kept human?”

_If you were, I’d at least be getting some_, Xander thinks sourly. Aloud, though, he says, “You’ll be my roommate. My _friend_, okay?”

Angel deflates a little at that. “Friend?”

“Friend. People have them. Even demons, sometimes. And friends help each other without worrying about who’s being a burden to who. Todd, for instance. He’s put his ass on the line for me a bunch of times. And Willow, she keeps flying across the country and solving my problems for me.” He smiles. “Besides, we’re family. Grandpa.”

Angel walks across the room and collapses onto the chair, burying his head in his hands. “What am I supposed to do with myself?” he mumbles.

“You could…get a job, I guess.”

Angel makes a choking sound. “A job! I’ve never worked a single day in my life, Xander. I was a worthless, whoring drunk of a man before Darla found me.”

“Aren’t you, like, three hundred years old? Haven’t you picked up any useful skills in all that time?”

“The skills I picked up, Xander, don’t generally come with a paycheck.”

Xander thinks about his time working for the government, and he’d like to tell Angel he shouldn’t be so certain about that. But then he has an idea. “You know, Angel, I bet the Watchers’ Council would be thrilled to have you. I can talk to Giles about it if you want.”

Angel raises his head. “Watchers’ Council?”

“Sure. Who knows more about demons than you?”

“I don’t want to be around…the slayer.”

Xander sighs. “Yeah, I’m with you on that. Was with you even before I got turned, actually. And this one…. Anyway, you don’t have to be near her. There’s lots of other stuff you can do. I did, for six months.”

Angel bites at a thumbnail. “I used to think about redemption, you know?” he says softly. “Trying to save my immortal soul.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s impossible. I could never make up for all the evil I’ve done. Especially not now, when I’ve got, what, maybe 50 years—tops—of life left?”

“So don’t worry about saving the world, Angel. Just…you know, maybe help out a little. Improve a life or two. Isn’t that worth something?”

Angel looks steadily at him. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good. But in the meantime, don’t go to Sunnydale. Stay here, okay? Please?”

Angel nods. “All right.”

 

He’s incredibly horny.

He always had a pretty active sex drive anyway, and then the whole vampire thing happened. At first, Spike took care of him, but he hasn’t gotten laid in months now and it’s driving him nuts. How did Angel handle it for all those years?

Actually, he has a pretty good idea how Angel handled it, and that’s just the way he’s handling it himself, now. Quickly, urgently, in the shower. Or any other place he can get five minutes of privacy.

It’s not enough.

He’s pretty sure he could seduce Angel. They sleep with each other naked, for God’s sake. Xander often wakes to find himself nestled against the solid heat, Mr. Happy poking hopefully at Angel’s muscular ass. Although they both pretend his cock’s not really there, he can smell Angel’s arousal, too. And Angel’s pretty fucking gorgeous, actually.

But still…he’s _Angel_. And there’s just something too uncomfortable in the thought of having sex with him. Plus, Angel’s still carrying about a ton of emotional baggage from his time with the Initiative, and probably doesn’t need to be molested by a vampire right now.

So he could go out to a club or something and find someone else. He’d never had any trouble picking up guys before and he’s sure he could manage now. Sure, he’d have the whole lack of body heat and heartbeat issue, but all he needs is a partner who’s too drunk or high to care. He’s fucked men before who probably wouldn’t have noticed if he’d turned green and sprouted horns. And there’s another thought—he can always find a demon. Lord knows he always has before.

No condoms to worry about anymore, because STDs are no longer a problem.

Yeah, he should really go find someone for a nice, dirty screw.

But he doesn’t.

Because even though he knows perfectly well that he and Spike have no claim on each other any more—hell, Spike might be fucking and biting his way across America right now!—he can’t shake the feeling that having sex with someone else would be an infidelity.

So he mopes around miserably, clandestinely jerking off like a fourteen-year-old. He thinks about Spike when he does it. Oh, he tries to imagine other lovers, both real and fantasy. That orthodontist from Beaverton with the ten-inch dick. David Beckham. Johnny Depp. But whoever he starts off picturing, the face always becomes pale, with sharp cheekbones and ice-blue eyes. In the end it’s always Spike he sees—Spike whole, Spike mutilated, Spike human, Spike vampire. Always Spike.

 

Todd and Pan come over one day in late June. “C’mon,” Todd says. “Get out of this depressing house. Let’s go to JJ’s.”

“No, I’ll just stay in tonight.”

“Uh-uh. You’re going.”

Xander refuses. Todd is an irresistible force. Pan starts a chess game with Angel, and that does it, as it was undoubtedly meant to. Xander throws on something a little more presentable and they hop in Todd’s Prius.

Xander hasn’t been here since they left for Boston. It hasn’t changed much. It’s still crowded and noisy and the drinks are overpriced. Shen, the hot bartender, has a new piercing. The sticky heat bothers Xander less now that he’s dead. Everything else is the same.

Todd waves down Shen and buys them a couple of beers, while Xander watches the half-naked, writhing mass on the dance floor. He sees a head of honey curls and for a moment his breath stops, but the guy turns and it’s not Spike. Hell, maybe Spike’s gone back to the peroxide look by now.

Xander downs his beer in one long draw. One of the downsides to being a vampire is that it takes a lot more alcohol to get him drunk now. He’s about to order a refill, but Todd snatches the glass out of his hand and slams it on the bar, then pulls him by the hand into the middle of the room.

He likes dancing with Todd. The blond has a natural grace and his tight muscles move in interesting ways. Xander allows himself to get lost in the music, no longer thinking, just swaying. One of the demons up there—the Chimera, he suspects—likes to get its groove on, too, so he opens the door and lets it take over.

After a while Todd goes off to dance with a skinny black guy with wire-framed glasses, and Xander pairs up with a shirtless brunet with long, thick hair. He shouts out over the din that his name is Kai. He has muscles on his muscles. He looks like he just stepped off the cover of a romance novel. He can’t dance worth shit, but he’s so pretty that Xander doesn’t care. It’s too much fun watching the sweat slide down his ridged, hairless chest.

Three or four songs later, Xander buys Kai a drink, then another. Kai’s skin is tanned and he has a nice flush on his cheeks. He reaches over and strokes at the scar on Xander’s face, then leans in for a long, wet kiss. He tastes of beer and salsa. Xander palms the heavy planes of his back, then lets his hands drop to the solid mass of his butt. His jeans are obscenely tight, and Xander feels Kai’s hard length rubbing up against his own.

One of the reasons for JJ’s popularity is the tiny rooms in the back. They’re euphemistically called “Private Party Rooms,” and the police and liquor control authorities have long closed their eyes to their existence. Xander’s heard speculation that JJ’s management pays large bribes, or has blackmail video of certain members of the city government. Maybe just nobody cares so long as the customers keep the noise, trash, and drug deals off of the streets. In any case, the rooms are there on a first-come, first-served basis—or maybe that ought to be first-served, first-come.

By mutual agreement, Xander and Kai head for the party rooms. After a few seconds of searching they find one that’s free and they step inside, locking the door behind them. Like all the rooms, this one is bare, save for a large basket of condoms in corner and a trash can in another. It has a reasonably clean tile floor and walls painted in a giant pink and green paisley. A single dim lightbulb hangs overhead.

Xander immediately backs Kai into a corner and they resume their kiss. It’s been months since Xander’s had contact like this with anyone, and his skin soaks in the touches the way a desert soaks in rain. Their crotches grind hungrily together and the friction of the denim against Xander’s cock is delicious.

Kai slides his hands down the inside of Xander’s jeans, grabbing an ass cheek in each palm and squeezing. Xander rocks against the man, moaning softly. He pulls his mouth away from Kai’s lips and licks at the beads of sweat on his forehead, then traces his tongue down the cheek.

Kai groans and his head falls back against the wall. His corded neck is exposed now, his pulse fluttering so quickly right _there_.

Xander feels his face start to shift, his fangs begin to drop.

With a cry, he tears himself away.

Kai calls after him as he flings open the door and rushes back through the crowded floor, past the packed bar and into the humid air outside.

His feet pound the pavement as he runs—no, _flies_—down the street. Cars screech to a halt, honking, and his legs only move faster and faster. Soon he’s swooping over a bridge, then crashing back down to solid earth, and then he’s hurling open his own front door.

Pan and Angel whirl around from their game, startled, but he rushes past them, up the stairs, and into his own bed. He collapses then, all his strength suddenly gone. He rolls into a ball and he shakes and shakes.

Some time later, Todd creeps cautiously into the room. “Xan? Are you okay?”

Xander makes a noncommittal sort of noise.

Todd slowly steps closer until he standing beside the bed. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

Xander laughs roughly at that and rolls onto his back, allowing his arms to flop at his sides. “I almost bit him.”

“What? Who?”

“Mr. Harlequin. Kai. The guy I was dancing with.”

“The dude with the hair and the muscles?”

“Him. We were making out in a party room, and suddenly I was about to sink my fangs into his jugular. I would have drained him, Todd.”

Todd sits on the bed next to him. “You’re a vampire, Xander. It’s what vamps do. Besides, you stopped yourself.”

“That’s what’s upsetting me.”

“You’re freaked because you _didn’t_ bite him? I don’t get it.”

Xander covers his eyes with his arm. “I have a soul, Todd. Certified, slightly-used soul. And I came _that_ close to tearing open that pretty throat and fucking eating that guy. Because that’s what vampires do.” He sits up now and looks into Todd’s confused eyes. “Except Spike.”

“Xander, Spike has—“

“Yeah, yeah, Spike’s killed hundreds. Scourge of Europe, blah blah blah. But not now. From the moment Willow deactivated that fucking chip, he could have murdered me, or you, or half the goddamn state. But he didn’t, did he?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“In fact, the one and only person he killed in that entire time was one of those Initiative fucks. My body count was higher than that even before Drusilla got to me.”

“He promised you he wouldn’t, Xan.”

“That’s my fucking point! He promised me he wouldn’t kill anyone and he didn’t, even though the urge to bite must have been overwhelming sometimes. Why would he do that, Todd, why?”

Softly, Todd says, “Because he loves you.”

Xander collapses back on the bed and hides his face in his hands. “He loved me. I never believed…. He really loved me, and I fucked it up, and now he’s gone.”

Todd lies down next to him and shoves his arm under him. “You both fucked it up, Xan. You two are the most mule-headed, insecure….” He sighs. “You both fucked it up, but that doesn’t mean it can’t still be fixed.”

“He’s _gone_, Todd. I don’t know where the hell he is.”

“Have you looked for him?”

“A vampire who wants to stay lost is hard to find.”

“What if he wants to be found?”

Xander raises his head and looks over at Todd.

What if he wants to be found?

 

[Chapter 16](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/17313.html#cutid1)


	22. 16 Full Package

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 16: Full Package**_  
**Chapter Title:** 16 Full Package   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

Posting way early. Why? Because I really like this chapter. And I'm not getting work done today due to a million interruptions, so I might as well close my office door and do this. *g*

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)

      He sits on the back stairs, watching a wheeling bat snatch moths from under the streetlight’s glare. There was a time he’d have had a cigarette in his fingers. When he had fingers. Now he just inhales the air that smells slightly of mildew, and he swats absently at a cloud of mosquitoes. Nasty little bloodsuckers.

“Spike! I got one for you!”

Spike sighs and stands up slowly. He brushes at his jeans a little and steps inside, shoving the ends of his arms inside his pockets as he goes.

He’s a new one, for Spike anyway. He’s tall and thin and sandy-haired, sporting a bad haircut and a thick pair of glasses. He’s wearing khakis and a blue and white checked shirt. At least he’s not one of those goth wankers.

Albert’s standing beside him, grinning at Spike proprietarily. “Tim, this is Spike. Spike, Tim.”

Tim holds out his hand as if to shake, but Spike snarls a little and tilts his head. “This way, then.” Sometimes Albert tells him to be nicer to the customers. But they’re going to come here whether he’s nice or not, and besides, most of them don’t expect the vamp to be polite.

Tim drops his hand and follows him into the next room. It used to be the dining room, he supposes, and, well, that’s appropriate, isn’t it? Now there’s a comfortable leather armchair there, as well as a small leather couch. Some of the customers pay for the full package, but Spike doesn’t do that. Yet. Spike nods at the chair, and Tim sits.

Tim isn’t nervous and shaking, the way newbies are, and he looks clean and steady. Points for him. Without being asked, he undoes the top several buttons of his shirt, revealing a long, pale neck. He has a prominent Adam’s apple.

Spike prowls around him for a moment, deciding on a position. He prefers not to reveal his handless state, not if he can help it, and that limits him somewhat. Finally he decides, and he gracefully straddles the man, their chests facing but their crotches a respectable distance apart. More points for Timmy—despite the obvious hard-on he’s acquired, he doesn’t try to wiggle Spike nearer. He just shuts his eyes and drops his head to the side.

Spike leans forward and changes, then buries his fangs in the warm, sweet-smelling skin. Tim moans and bucks up.

Spike takes small mouthfuls. The johns tip better when he makes it slow and good. This one tastes nice—no drugs except a lot of caffeine. Not as nice as Xander, of course. He pushes that thought away.

He gets a little tingle in his body when he feeds like this. Pleasant enough, but nothing like the orgasmic rush of biting—Stop that, already.

Tim’s his third tonight, and he’s actually feeling pretty full by the time Tim bucks again and emits a garbled little groan. The chlorine scent of semen fills Spike’s nose. He carefully withdraws his teeth and stands up, morphing his face back as he does.

Tim blinks up at him and smiles. “That was…wow. Thanks.”

Spike nods.

Tim scrambles to his feet and, slightly sheepishly, untucks his shirt to cover the stain on the front of his trousers. He digs a wallet out of his back pocket and pulls out a fifty. He holds it toward Spike. Twenty-five percent. Not a bad tip.

“Just put it on the table there, mate.” He points his chin toward the small table in the corner. Tim does as he’s told.

“So, uh, thanks,” says Tim. “See you in a couple weeks?”

“Sure.”

Tim departs. When Spike’s sure he’s gone, he walks into the living room, leaving the money on the table. Albert will collect it for him later and add it to his account.

Albert is sitting in the living room with the two other vamps in residence, watching a dance competition on the telly. One of the vamps appears to be a petite young woman with curly blonde hair and a rosebud mouth. The other is a Hispanic bloke with a shaved head. They’re both just fledges, really. As far as Spike can tell, Albert is actually the girl’s father, and the bloke is her boyfriend. It’s a strange arrangement, Daddy pimping out his girl, but it keeps her off the street and it pays the rent besides.

Anyway, who is Spike to criticize strange arrangements?

There are a couple of other vampires who work here now and then, but Albert’s very particular about whom he’ll take on. Dead customers are bad for business. He’d been happy to bring in Spike, though, mostly because he’d known Xander for years.

Xander knows about this place, of course. Has to—in a town the size of Portland, there are only a handful of suckhouses. Xander used to patrol the others pretty frequently, but this one he’d mostly left alone, trusting Albert to keep the humans safe. Spike had asked Xander once if he didn’t think the suckhouses were dens of evil—this was before he remembered having worked in one himself, of course—and Xander had shrugged. “As long as there’s consent and nobody gets hurt, what do I care? Besides, now I can appreciate the draw of a nice little bite.” And he’d demonstrated what he meant by pulling Spike hard against his own neck.

Albert flashes Spike a toothy grin. “Tim was very pleased, Spike. I think you’ve made a regular of him.”

“Brilliant.” It was good, really. Tim was the perfect john.

The blonde dimples at him. “Want to join us?”

“Nah. I’m done for tonight. Gonna turn in.” With a small wave of his arm, Spike heads up the stairs to his room.

Like the rest of this place, it’s a big improvement over the dump in San Francisco. It’s a real room, for one thing, not just a converted closet. There’s a blackout curtain over the window and his own private bath with shower. The décor is twenty-first century Ikea, from the sofa that can be folded flat into a bed, to the particle board and plastic chest of drawers. There is a table with a lamp and clock next to the bed; a small telly on the chest of drawers, which only gets a few fuzzy stations; and a little desk and chair and rubbish bin in one corner. There’s even a framed poster on one white-painted wall, a photo of some sun-drenched Greek island. Spike’s not sure if it’s meant to be ironic.

Spike grabs a full bottle of Jack Daniels off the desk and uses his teeth to unscrew the cap. He can hold the bottle with his stumps and he does, taking a long, long swallow. He collapses on the bed, bottle still cradled in his arms.

Maybe in the morning he’ll finally have the balls to walk out the door. He snorts at himself. Likely not. He doesn’t have any balls at all, does he?

He takes another deep draught of JD.

 

It’s been a slow evening—only one john tonight—and Spike is filling his stomach with a container of cold pig’s blood. Tastes like shite, but it keeps his hunger away. He’s naked, his lower body tucked comfortably under the covers. Letterman has just come on and he’s thinking about changing the channel; he’s learned to operate the remote with a pencil held between his teeth.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Yeah?”

Albert pokes his head in. “Got one for you, Spike.”

“Sorry, mate. Done for the night. Tell ‘em to come back tomorrow.”

“This one’s kind of special. I’d like to make him happy, you know?”

Oh, bugger. Probably means the bloke is willing to pay loads. It doesn’t matter much to Spike—he already has enough this week to cover his rent and whiskey—but Albert’s treated him well and he figures he owes him a good turn or two. He sighs and puts down the carton of pig’s blood.

“All right. You’ll have to come help me with my trousers, though.”

Although he can get the sweats on and off himself, he can’t stand the thought of being stuck in them for the rest of his unlife, however short or long that may be. So he wears jeans instead, but that means when he wants to sleep more comfortably Albert has to manage the button and zip for him. It’s humiliating, but what’s one more small humiliation? At least Albert doesn’t mind; he generally acts as if Spike is his young child who still needs help dressing for school.

Now, though, Albert shakes his balding head. “Stay as you are. I’ll just bring him up here.”

Spike stiffens a little. “Now, Albert, you know I won’t—“

“No, no, of course not. It’s nothing like that. He’d just like a little more privacy, is all.”

Spike thinks for a minute and then gives a curt nod. Albert smiles at him, then goes to fetch the john. Spike shoves the pig’s blood under the bed, turns off the telly, and frets. He never sees johns up here. Never. But then—oh, bloody hell, what does it matter?

His head falls back on the pillow and his eyes close.

A moment later he hears footsteps, and then the soft sound of the door shutting.

Without opening his eyes, he says, “Let’s be clear, mate. No full package. Just the bite.”

“That’s a shame,” says a familiar voice.

Spike’s lids fly open and he scrambles backwards on the bed with a gasp.

Xander Harris.

His hair is long and wild, some of it falling over his face. He’s dressed simply in worn jeans and a navy t-shirt. One corner of his mouth is curled up in a half-smile.

“Hi,” he says.

Spike realizes his mouth is hanging open and he shuts it with an audible pop. Xander’s hands look relaxed, but he wonders whether he’s about to reach behind him for Mr. Pointy. Decides he won’t put up a fight if he is.

But Xander only takes a small step closer. “Can I sit?”

Spike nods mutely. Xander sits.

“How are you, Spike?”

Spike finally finds his voice. “Fine.”

“Good. You, uh, look good.”

“You?”

“Dandy.”

Spike has a sudden horrible thought. “Is everyone all right? Zilla, Red, Angel?”

“Todd’s fine. He’s getting a promotion already. Willow’s good, too. She decided to join a coven and practice her magic more. Sam fell off her scooter last week and broke her wrist. Angel…I don’t know. A little better, I guess. He’s still pretty wrecked. He’s thinking about joining the Watchers’ Council.”

“Those tossers?”

“Yeah, well, it’ll give him something to do. A purpose.” Xander looks a little wistful at that, Spike thinks.

“How’d you find me?”

“It wasn’t that hard, Spike.”

Right.

“And why? Look, if you’re after a thank you for everything you did for me, ta.” He’s trying to sound flippant but he knows he’s failing miserably. At least he manages to keep his voice from breaking. Barely.

“I don’t want a thank you.”

“What do you want, then?”

“You.”

Spike’s mouth drops open again in shock. Does he mean—No, he can’t. He must mean he wants revenge, for all he’s gone through on Spike’s account.

But now he’s resting one hand gently on Spike’s knee, and that doesn’t feel very vengeful at all.

“Okay, I’m going to try to get this all out at once. Don’t interrupt, please. You’ll have plenty of time to reject me later. Just…Todd said I should be really honest with you, and I should’ve been, a long time ago. Maybe I wouldn’t have screwed things up so bad.”

“Zilla said the same to me.”

“Guess we both shoulda listened.” Xander gets up and starts to pace across the small room. He does this when he’s anxious. He takes a deep breath.

“Okay. Here it is. I love you. I love you, Spike.”

Spike could swear his heart thumps a beat.

“I never appreciated how much you’d sacrificed for me, how hard it was for you to stop hunting. To eat fucking blood bank rejects. To fit yourself into my stupid little way of living. I took it for granted and I’m sorry.

“You’re the only really worthwhile thing in my whole miserable existence. You’re all I’ve thought about… well, since I saw you in Omaha, really. I’ve tried not to love you, I really have. I tried to go on with my life. Unlife. Called myself all kinds of an idiot. Tried to lose myself in work, in fighting, in a bottle. But since you left there’s been a hole torn right through my middle, and it won’t fucking heal!”

Xander’s voice has risen to a shout, and he takes a slow, calming pull of air. He continues much more quietly. “I told you that apologies wouldn’t change anything, but maybe, just maybe I was wrong. Jesus Christ, Spike, will you please forgive me?” And he throws himself to his knees in supplication.

Bloody hell. He’s been so fucking stupid.

“Xander,” he says, and his voice is choked so he has to say it again. “Xander. Why do I have to forgive you?”

Xander curls in on himself in defeat. “You don’t have to. I was just hoping—“

“No, no, you git! What do you think I should forgive you _for_?”

Xander looks up at him incredulously. “For that,” he says, waving at Spike’s arms and crotch.

“You didn’t do this to me. Walsh and her lot did. And you killed them all very nicely after, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, after. She did this to you because I was stupid enough to get caught, and then too fucking stubborn to cooperate, and too dense to let the demons out in time.”

“Xander, listen to me. This. Is. Not. Your. Fault. I can’t forgive you for it because I won’t let you shoulder the blame for it. Please, pet. Don’t let this burden you.”

There’s a tiny spark of hope in Xander’s eyes. It’s mirrored by a little flutter in Spike’s gut.

“You don’t…you don’t hate me for it?”

“Don’t hate you at all. I love you.”

Xander collapses onto his heels with a small _oomph_ sound.

“Even now, with your memories back?” His voice is a bare whisper.

“Pet, my past doesn’t change who you are. I don’t know if I could have fallen for you back in Sunnydale a decade ago. Maybe I could have, if I’d got to know you. But you’re not the same boy you were then, and I’m not the same vampire. Even demons change. And Xander, you are the only reason I didn’t fall on a stake months and months ago. That hole in your middle? I’ve got one, too.”

Xander makes a choked sound. Tears are running down his face. Or maybe those are Spike’s own tears, blurring his vision.

“William the Bloody can love the Zeppo?”

“No. William…Spike…_I_ can love Xander Harris, who’s my rock and my soul and my bloody hero.”

Xander opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens it again. “Even if I’m—multiply possessed?”

“Shove another hundred demons in that thick loaf, it wouldn’t matter.”

“Then why…why did you leave?”

“Because I’m a bloody great fool, Xan. I thought you wanted me to go.”

Now it’s Xander’s turn to gape. “You thought…. Jesus, Spike, how could you think that? You _knew_ I love you. Knew for sure since Willow’s collar-removing spell.”

“Knew you cared for me then. But that was early on, wasn’t it? When you thought I wouldn’t stay weak forever.”

Xander starts to say something, but Spike holds up his arm to quiet him. “Xander, you told me you can’t forgive me.”

Xander looks blank. “I…. What? What the hell are you talking about? Forgive you for what?”

“For letting those fuckers kill you. Turn you. Wipe you. For being an utter failure at saving you.”

Xander groans. “You can’t take the blame for Walsh, either. They did those things to me, and you came looking for me even when walking in the Initiative’s door is the last thing in the world you wanted to do.”

“But you said—“

“When? When did I say that?”

“Right after you remembered. First words out of your mouth: ‘Can’t forgive Spike.’”

Xander groans again. “Shit. Shit. That’s not what I meant. That’s not—Look, I’d just remembered how you were tortured because of me. I _meant_ ‘Can’t _you _forgive _me_, Spike?’”

Spike laughs. He can’t help it. It’s so bleeding ridiculous.

“You were never angry with me?”

“I spent months crying at your bedside, Spike. Does that sound like I was angry?”

“Thought you were just being kind. White hat and all.”

“What I was being was devastated. Because I knew one way or the other, I was going to lose you.” Xander knee-walks closer to the bed. He cups his hand around Spike’s wet cheek. “I can’t lose you, Spike,” he whispers.

Spike emits a great, shuddering sigh. “I don’t deserve you. I’m not like you. I’m weak. Always have been.”

“You’re not,” Xander says, stroking him.

“I’m…corrupted. You saw what they did to me….”

Xander continues his soft caresses. “They were corrupted. You’re beautiful.”

“I’m evil.”

“You’re the least evil vampire I know.”

“But you know what I’ve done—“

“You haven’t been evil, Spike. You’ve been…amoral. A vampire, giving into a vampire’s instincts. Christ, I know now how strong those instincts are. Even with a soul…. I mean, look at Angel. Not exactly the picture of mental health, even before Walsh, was he?”

Spike pulls his head away and gestures around the room. “I’m a whore.”

“You’re surviving. Besides, I thought you didn’t do the ‘full package.’”

“Sucking or fucking—still a whore.”

Xander captures him again, this time with both hands. “I don’t give a fuck, Spike. I love you.”

“I’m—ruined.” With a jerk, he pulls the covers away from himself, revealing his bare body.

“You’re not. Besides, I love you, not your parts. Well, I love your parts, too. Like this one.” He brushes his thumb across Spike’s scarred eyebrow.

“And these.” Now both thumbs are ghosting against Spike’s cheekbone.

“And this.” A thumb traces Spike’s bottom lip.

Spike shivers, the hunger to believe in this stronger even than the hunger for blood he’d had in his cell in Omaha. “Don’t…don’t say it if it isn’t true. I couldn’t bear it if….”

“One hundred percent honesty, Spike. I love you. I’d rather spend a day with you anywhere than an eternity in heaven without you. I love who you’ve been and what you are. I love you with or without your parts. I don’t care if I have to help you sometimes—I _like_ to help you sometimes—because it’s a small way for me to show you I care, like you’ve shown me every time you’ve fed from a plastic bag instead of a vein. I want you to come home with me—to _our_ home, because it’ll never be home without you. I can’t help being insecure sometimes because, hey, not a big history of people giving a shit about me here. Sometimes I find it hard to believe that someone as incredible as you really could care about someone like me. And sometimes I’ll be stubborn and stupid and sometimes you’ll be stubborn and snarky, and we’ll fight over the remote control and who drank the last beer, and I never ever want to spend another moment sleeping anywhere but in your arms.”

Xander takes a big, whooping breath. His soft brown eyes search Spike’s face.

Spike swallows, bites his lip, swallows again.

“One hundred percent honesty, Xander. I love you. You make my existence worthwhile. I’ve been around for a hundred and fifty years, and I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Not even Dru. You’re the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met. I haven’t had a real home in over a century and I never will again, unless you’re there with me. I can’t help being insecure sometimes because of what I’ve done and what’s been done to me, and I find it hard to believe someone as incredible as you could care for someone like me. I’ll never be a hero like you and I’ll always worry when you put yourself in danger, and I’ll fight you for the remote and the last beer, and I won’t face another bloody day unless it’s at your side.”

As Spike ends his soliloquy, Xander enfolds him in his long, strong arms. Spike reciprocates and they hold each other so tightly that neither can breathe, their heads resting on one another’s shoulders. If Spike could, he’d melt right into Xander, permanently inhabiting his body along with the rest of his demon collection.

By the time Xander pulls away from him slightly, Spike is pliant as taffy, slightly dizzy with the implications of their discussion. Xander eases him onto his back, smoothing the pillow beneath his head. Xander runs a calloused palm lightly and possessively down Spike’s chest and flank, then, lightning-quick, leaps onto the bed, straddling Spike’s naked, supine form.

He bends down and captures Spike’s mouth in a bruising kiss that Spike hopes will never end. Spike rubs his arms against the soft cotton of Xander’s shirt, loving the weight on top of him, bathing in the familiar and beloved scents of vanilla and wood and beer and blood.

Xander finally does end the kiss, and Spike might complain, except now Xander drags his lips across Spike’s cheek and down to his neck, where he fastens on and sucks gently, causing Spike to mewl and writhe. Far too soon, Xander pulls away. He brings his lips against Spike’s ear and, in the barest of whispers, says, “Please. Let me treat your body the way it deserves.”

“It’s yours, pet. I’m yours.”

Xander blows softly into his ear and then gently pushes Spike’s arms away from himself and down onto the bed. He repositions himself slightly downward and then sucks lightly on Spike’s collarbone, nibbling a little at the spot where the bone most protrudes. He follows the line of the bone towards Spike’s shoulder and then down his arm, covering the skin with butterfly kisses and kitten licks. When he gets to the end, where the hand should be, he massages the stump with his thumbs and then laps at it with his tongue, as if he could retroactively soothe the pain of the injury.

He crosses over Spike’s chest to repeat the procedure on the other side.

Spike’s body has been taken and claimed and abused so many times that it doesn’t feel like it belongs to him any more. But now, every spot that Xander touches somehow is returned to Spike like a gift. And Xander is taking care to touch every bit.

When Xander finishes with Spike’s arms, he returns to his chest, where he very gradually works his way downward until his mouth is latched around Spike’s right nipple, his tongue flicking at the hard and sensitive flesh. His long hair fans out to the sides and tickles. Spike would give up his immortality to be able to comb his fingers through that hair.

Xander nibbles slightly roughly, his teeth still blunt, and Spike arches his back and wonders whether he can come from his alone. But then Xander’s moving again, dragging his tongue across Spike’s sternum and then giving the left nipple its fair share of attention as well. Spike arches again, moaning something so unintelligible even he doesn’t know what he says.

Xander moves down his body, exploring his chest and stomach with excruciating deliberation. For far too many months Spike’s been starved for contact, and now he drinks it up. He savors not only the touch of lips and skin, but also Xander’s fingers, which are drawing small circles over the sides of his ribcage, and Xander’s denim-clad legs, which are splayed out alongside his own bare ones.

As his lover moves lower still, Spike expects him to taste at his navel, but instead Xander strokes his right hipbone, nibbling at the thin skin and then sliding into the groove below. He licks his way down Spike’s leg, massaging the long, heavy muscles as he goes. Spike thinks of the times those legs were broken or useless, and now Xander’s caresses take the bitterness of those memories away.

When Xander reaches Spike’s foot, he sucks lovingly on each toe. Spike watches as the digits disappear into Xander’s mouth and then reappear. It tickles a little, actually, but he stays very still because he doesn’t want Xander to stop.

Only when Xander has lovingly worshiped even Spike’s small toe does he turn his devotions to the left leg. His attentions are especially close when he gets to the missing toe on this foot, and he fusses and soothes over the amputated toe as if its loss were of earth-shattering significance.

Then he slithers back upwards, finally fucking Spike’s navel with his tongue. Spike realizes he’s making a needy little whining sound, has been making it for some time, in fact, but he can’t get his vocal chords to obey him. And then he loses control of them entirely when Xander’s tongue paints a broad stripe down his abdomen, ending at the crisp nest of his pubic hair, which has long since grown back.

His instinct now is to hide himself, to cover himself in shame. “Xan—“ he rasps.

“Sshh, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. He’s Xander’s sweetheart again.

He allows his legs to fall apart slightly, opening himself to Xander’s scrutiny. If he expects this to work at all, he needs to let the other vampire see what he truly is.

But as Xander delicately and reverently pets the smooth little mound of flesh, Spike feels less like a eunuch, and more like a pampered and adored sultan. He gasps as suddenly he realizes how sensitive this patch of skin is, how the barest touch of finger or tongue tip sends fiery tingles racing through his nerves. His groin doesn’t feel blank anymore—it feels like…potential. Want. Need.

Xander strokes the insides of his upper thighs and Spike splays his legs wider. As a reward, Xander burrows his head in and licks at Spike’s perineum. It’s impossible for Spike to be ashamed anymore when he feels this good.

Xander’s feathery touch is mapping the inner creases of his legs, while his tongue is barely poking at Spike’s hole. “Gah,” says Spike, succinctly.

He thinks he hears Xander chuckle.

Suddenly, he wants Xander in him. Penetrating him in any way possible. But Xander is still fully dressed and Spike can’t possibly wait for him to fumble with his flies. He needs him now.

“Bite!” he commands.

Xander resumes his rhythmic stroking of the juncture between Spike’s legs. Just as Spike’s about ready to scream in frustration, he hears the quiet crunching of bones, and then Xander’s fangs are plunging into his femoral artery.

Spike’s entire body arcs in such a rigid bow that he rises from the mattress from shoulders to heels. Every molecule in his body flies apart at light speed. He comes so hard that speech and memory and most of his senses desert him. All he’s left with is one throbbing, screaming center of pleasure.

He floats slowly down to earth like a feather on a spring breeze. When he’s at last able to process sight and sound again, Xander is nestled up next to him, slowly stroking his hip, pressing small kisses against his temple.

“Gah,” Spike repeats, conversationally.

And this time Xander definitely does laugh, his little puffs of breath tickling into Spike’s ear. “Guess I’ll have to save your back side for later.”

“Later?”

Brilliant. He’s managed two coherent syllables.

“At home, Spike. Let’s go home.”

[Chapter 17](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/17602.html#cutid1)

 

       


	23. 17 Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 17: Present**_  
**Chapter Title:** 17 Present   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

**We are almost done! This is the next to last chapter. Enjoy!**

 

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)  
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They’re an odd family, he thinks.

During the night, when everyone’s awake, Angel still mostly broods. It’s hard to give up a century’s habit, Xander supposes, although Spike mutters archly now and then that he wouldn’t half mind if Angelus paid a little visit now and then.

Angel and Spike often bicker. Sometimes it gets on Xander’s nerves, but mostly it amuses him. Angel and Xander tend to regard each other in puzzled silence, neither quite able to understand the other. And Angel rolls his eyes and sighs melodramatically when Spike and Xander become enthusiastic in their mutual ardor. But sometimes, when Angel thinks nobody is looking, he gazes at both of them, his face full of almost-fatherly affection. Or grandfatherly.

Todd comes over often, and Pan joins him when he’s in town. Todd tends to cast smug looks at Xander and Spike, but he’s never quite actually said “I told you so.” The four or five of them gather in the living room, drinking beer and watching movies, or swapping stories of Sunnydale and their other adventures.

Xander chats with Giles every week or so. The long-delayed wedding is scheduled for February. Giles promises that if Xander and Spike make it to London, they’ll have an evening ceremony so the vampires can attend. They discuss the possibility of chartering a plane and bringing along Angel, Todd and Pan. They can stop over in Boston to pick up Willow and her crew. Now that Spike actually remembers his youth, Jane is threatening to spend several days picking his brain for Victorian minutiae. Spike doesn’t admit it, but Xander knows he’s actually looking forward to that.

Giles is enthusiastic about the idea of Angel joining the Council. Angel still hasn’t made up his mind, though. He doesn’t have the confidence to leave yet. And despite the occasional squabbling—Angel can say the name “William” in a tone certain to leave Spike in a huff for hours—Xander’s glad he’s around. Spike is, too.

Willow checks in on them often. She seems to be under the impression that Xander and Spike will get themselves in some kind of trouble if she doesn’t watch over them from afar.

The vampires sleep upstairs in the big oak bed, while the human has taken over their former bedroom downstairs. Once or twice a week, though, his dreams get too much for him and he appears at their bedside, naked and bed-headed. Wordlessly, they pry themselves apart and make room for him in the middle. As soon as he’s settled under the covers, the vampires drape themselves over and around him, leeching at his body heat as greedily as they might leech at his blood.

Despite the skin on skin contact, the three of them never have sex together. This is about peace and consolation. It’s family.

In a very strange, incestuous kind of way.

 

Pan is back in Sunnydale, but Todd’s over, and the four of them are watching some sort of documentary on tv. Well, two of them are. Spike is watching, too, but pretending not to. He and Angel had argued about something stupid earlier in the evening and he’s still pouting a little. Xander is bored with the program and is amusing himself by playing with Spike’s long, slender feet.

It’s hot and sticky and they’re all a little cranky.

Xander can’t stand it any longer. He pushes Spike’s legs off his lap and gets to his feet. “I’m going to Ricky’s,” he announces.

The others all blink up at him.

“I’m in,” Spike says, standing. Xander smiles broadly at him and gives him a loud smooch on the cheek. Spike hasn’t gone much of anywhere since he returned home, so this is a small breakthrough.

The vampires look at the other two expectantly.

Todd grins and jumps up. “C’mon, Angel,” he says. “Please?”

Stronger men than Angel have given in to Todd’s pleading look. Angel scowls, then sighs and says, “Okay.”

Everybody puts on shoes and they head into the night. Spike and Todd take the lead, heads together, laughing, probably sharing a joke at Xander’s expense. Xander doesn’t care because this way he gets to watch Spike walk. The old swagger is back, the cocksure little strut. It makes Xander want to grab his lover right this second and fuck him into someone’s front lawn. Instead he just smiles to himself and tags along.

Ricky’s is crowded tonight. Maybe it’s the air conditioning. Maybe it’s the general restlessness of demons facing a short, humid night. In any case, it’s packed. But Ricky scurries over to clear a table for them in the corner. He may not know Angel, but he’s well acquainted with Xander, Spike, and Todd, and is aware that it’s best to keep them happy.

He brings them a round of drinks—Laphroaig for Angel, Cuervo Gold for the others. They down them quickly and he brings them a second. Spike steals a kiss from Xander, sharing the taste of agave and lime.

Angel’s jumpy. He rarely gets out anyway, and this is the first time he’s been to a bar of any kind—demon or otherwise—since he was resurrected. Xander tries to picture him at JJ’s and has to smother a snort of laughter.

“What’s the joke, luv?”

“Tell you later,” he replies.

Todd, of course, senses how uncomfortable Angel feels, and distracts him by asking him something about horses. It seems that horsemanship is a subject on which Angel has several rather strong opinions, and soon he’s expounding at length. Todd is really interested, or at least he seems to be, and he hangs on Angel’s every word. Angel relaxes.

Xander and Spike don’t give a shit about riding anything other than each other so they tune him out. Instead they watch the demon activity going on around them. The T’ritha is here again, back hustling pool. An Arpoat is selling some kind of substance to a pair of blue Onatalons. Something squat and purplish is chatting up a raven-haired Dsaret.

Xander is watching a Chaos demon at the bar who’s so drunk he’s about to fall off his stool, but Spike leans up against him and whispers in his ear. “Pet? Think that lot over there is gonna be a problem.”

Xander looks in the direction Spike indicates with his chin. Shit. Kleynachs. Four of them. And sure enough, they seem to be hunched over their table conspiratorially. Xander focuses his sensitive hearing on their conversation.

They’re speaking in Kleynt, of course, but Xander has a passing familiarity with the language. The biggest of the group is glaring at Xander’s party out of the corner of his eyes.

“—vampires, bringing a fucking _human_ in here.”

One of the demon’s companions shakes its head. “As if there aren’t enough of those vermin crawling all over the streets.”

The third, who’s wearing a truly hideous striped shirt, adds, “And what’s that little blond runt they’ve got with them?”

“Stadnent,” grunts the second. “Green little fuck ought to be home sucking eggs.”

The Kleynachs dissolve into grunting laughter.

“Maybe the vamps are buying them a drink before having them for dinner,” says Ugly Shirt. “Wouldn’t mind a taste myself.”

The third one pokes its companion in the shoulder. “Maybe we ought to go over and offer the blond vamp a hand. Get it? A hand?”

More grunts and gurgles. Xander looks sidelong at Spike. Spike looks like he’s got something disgusting caught in his teeth.

Abruptly, the fourth demon hauls itself to its feet and clomps over to Xander’s table, its fellows trailing closely behind. Angel interrupts his speech and they all look up at the Kleynachs.

“Can we help you?” Spike asks, scarred eyebrow raised.

“Why are you polluting this place, you bunch of half-breed and human trash?” growls the demon.

“Polluting?” Spike replies. “I thought that was the stench rolling off you lot. Haven’t discovered the joys of indoor plumbing yet, have we?”

“You watch your mouth, cripple.”

Spike smirks easily at the Kleynach, his entire body relaxed and nonchalant. Surprisingly, it’s Angel who jumps to his feet, sending his chair scooting loudly backwards.

“I think it’s you who’d best be watching your own mouth,” he snarls. And when the hint of a brogue creeps into his words, Xander can actually feel the crowd in his head cheering in glee. _What the hell_, he thinks and opens the door, just as the Kleynach shoves into their table, overturning it and spilling their drinks onto the floor.

The battle that follows is bloody and satisfying.

Kleynachs are formidable opponents. But Spike and Angel are still excellent fighters, despite one’s disability and the other’s humanity. Todd’s an good scrapper, too, and Xander—well, Xander really doesn’t mind the scar on his face, but still, he takes special joy in beating the shit out of this particular species of demon.

But it’s not only their individual prowess that decides the fight. Each of the four has fought before at the side at least one of the others, and it turns out that the group of them make a cohesive and outstanding unit. Xander doesn’t even have to think before he passes one torn Kleynach to Angel, and then dives in to pull another off of Todd. At the same time, Spike is howling and biting at the one that was about to yank out Xander’s intestines, Todd is chewing the wrist of the one trying to strangle him, and Angel has just landed a beautiful roundhouse kick on Ugly Shirt’s chest.

It’s almost like a beautifully choreographed dance.

A dance with lots of blood.

In shorter order than Xander or his possessing demons would have liked, three of the Kleynachs lie bleeding and broken on the floor. The other one—the big one, Xander thinks—has run off into the night.

Much of the bar furniture is in shambles, and most of the other customers have fled, but Ricky dashes over to bring them another round of drinks, this one on the house. Ricky is a smart businessman who strongly values his own pudgy hide.

All four of them have some cuts and scrapes. Xander has a nasty gash on one bicep, and Spike’s shoulder’s dislocated, but with a little blood, they’ll both be healed by morning.

The mood of all four of them as they walk home is ebullient. Even Angel is laughing and joking, and Spike practically bounces all the way home. Xander is so anxious to get himself and Spike naked that Todd keeps glancing over at him and giggling.

In no time at all, they’re jogging up the bungalow’s front steps. Everybody’s saying something about getting cleaned up. Xander has no idea what arrangements Angel and Todd make over the downstairs bath, because as soon as they’re in the door, Xander and Spike are rushing up to their bedroom to the stone-tiled shower that’s big enough for two. At least if those two don’t mind a little bit of crowding together.

And Xander and Spike really don’t mind.

 

“Have you ever thought about redemption?”

“You’ve been talking to the pouf again.”

“The guy with a dick in his ass really shouldn’t be calling other people poufs.”

Spike snorts and wiggles that ass a little, and Xander nearly loses his train of thought.

“Well, have you?”

“Liam can never quite shake that Catholic upbringing, can he? Was always wanting to chase after priests and nuns. Ate half a monastery, once.”

“Redemption, Spike?”

Spike sighs. “Never gave it much thought. Not really an issue for me, being soulless and all. Guess it’s different for you and Peaches. Not that there’s anything about you that needs redeeming, pet. You’re still good as gold.”

“Tarnished gold.”

“Nah. Bright and shiny.”

Xander readjusts his pillow and then nibbles lightly on Spike’s shoulder for a moment. “You think without a soul you’re automatically condemned to hell?”

“Like I said, never much thought about it. I reckon a hundred and twenty years of homicide pretty much seals the deal for me anyway.”

“And you don’t think it’s possible for you to atone for that?”

“Can’t bring the dead back to life, pet.” He snorts again. “Well, actually, we can, can’t we? Not very practical on such a large scale, though.”

Now Xander sighs and sucks at the nape of Spike’s neck.

“Why the sudden concern about the afterlife?”

“I just don’t want you to suffer any more, Spike.”

“Not suffering now, luv.” And Spike wiggles again to underscore his point.

Xander thrusts slowly forward, then back. He drops his fangs and drags the point of one of them lightly across Spike’s skin, then licks at the thin tracing of blood. Spike moans and presses backward.

“But some day, sweetheart. We can’t stay like this forever.”

“Why not?” Spike rocks his hips, and this time it’s Xander who moans.

“Things happen. Bad things.”

“Well, I’m not planning on getting dusted any time soon, all right? And I can’t get caught up worrying about the future. Let me enjoy the present.”

“Enjoy like this?” Xander says, suddenly biting deeply into Spike’s jugular.

When they’re both capable of speech again, Spike rubs the stump of his right arm against the small of Xander’s back. “Doesn’t mean you can’t be the white knight, though.”

“Hmm?” Xander was already half asleep.

“If you want to keep riding in to save damsels in distress, go ahead. I won’t stop you.”

“Are _you_ a damsel in distress, Spike?”

Spike huffs at him. “No. I can be….”

“My trusty steed?” Xander slaps lightly at Spike’s flank.

Spike bops him back.

“No. How about your…faithful squire?”

“Mmm. And I’ll be your…”

“Obedient minion.”

Xander sputters. “_Devoted_ minion. How’s that?”

“It’ll do.”

 

Three in the afternoon is the crack of dawn for those on vampire schedules. Spike is still fast asleep. Angel’s in the backyard, shirtless, mowing the lawn. He has an unexpected knack for gardening—maybe it’s just the excuse to get out in the sun. He has quite a tan going by now.

Xander’s in the kitchen, wearing only an unbuttoned pair of old jeans and warming some blood. He’s planning a little breakfast in bed with Spike.

The doorbell rings.

It makes Xander jump a little. They’re not expecting anyone. It’s definitely not Jehovah’s Witnesses. Spike flashed a little fang at the last group and snarled something about blood transfusions. They are unlikely to plan a repeat visit.

Xander puts the mugs on the counter and walks to the front door. He’s grateful for the protective overhang of the porch as he unlocks the door and pulls it open.

It’s Willow.

She’s wearing a bright green tank top and a patterned skirt, and there’s a string of silvery beads around her neck. She’s holding a laptop case and there’s a small purple suitcase at her side.

Xander gapes.

“Aren’t you gonna invite me in? I mean, not a vampire now, don’t need an invitation, it’s just polite.”

He shakes his head to clear it and leans down to for a kiss and a hug, then he waves her inside. He carries the suitcase in for her and shuts the door.

“Uh, Will. This is a surprise! We weren’t uh, expecting—“

“I know, Xan.” She looks him up and down, from his mussed hair to the livid set of bite marks on his pectoral to his loosened jeans. “Where’s Spike?”

“Upstairs. Asleep.”

“So everything with you two is good? No more crises? Smoochies instead?”

“Yeah, Will, we’re really good. Did you come all the way from Boston to check on my love life?”

She frowns prettily at him. “No. Looks like you haven’t been as careful as you should be, though, mister.” She looks pointedly at the healing wound on his arm.

“Oh, that’s just…. Willow, no offense, but what are you doing here? Are Jen and the kids okay?”

“They’re fine. And I came to give you and Spike sort of a present.”

He lifts his eyebrows at this. “A present?”

“Yeah. It’s something—Why don’t I wait and tell you both at once?”

“Okay, sure. I’ll just take your stuff into the spare room.”

“You don’t mind putting me up for a few days?”

He throws an arm around her. “No, of course not. You have to share a bathroom with Angel, though, and I’ll warn you. He can stay in there for days.”

Willow giggles and follows him down the hall.

After they deposit her luggage, they head into the kitchen.

“You want something to drink, Will? We have beer, and more beer, and I think Angel’s got some OJ in the fridge.”

“No, thanks. I already—“

Angel comes slamming in the kitchen door, sweaty and smelling strongly of cut grass. He comes to a screeching halt when he sees the redhead.

“Willow!”

“Hi, Angel.” She dimples at him, then hops over for a hug.

“Is there something wrong?”

“How come you people assume I can only come visit if there’s a disaster? Can’t it just be a friendly vacation?”

Angel looks at Xander, who shrugs.

“It’s nice to see you, Willow. It was just unexpected.”

She smiles at him. “I know. I was just teasing.”

Xander picks up the rapidly cooling cups of blood. “Look, how about if Spike and I have our breakfast, and then you can tell us what’s up?”

“Sure, Xan. And later, will you show me the upstairs?”

He’s forgotten that she hasn’t seen it since he finished remodeling. “Of course. But, um…later is good. Spike’s probably not very…presentable right now.”

She giggles again. Angel goes off to wash up, and Willow says she’s going to check her email. Xander heads upstairs with the blood.

Spike is asleep still. Only his head is sticking out of the covers, his curls a wild halo and his mouth slightly ajar. He looks adorable, actually, though he’d probably bite Xander if he said so. Not that biting is a bad idea. In fact, if Xander folds down the blankets just so, he’ll be able to reach that spot—

Oh, yeah. Willow.

Xander sighs.

“Rise and shine, morning glory,” he sings.

Spike groans and burrows further under the blankets.

“Brought you breakfast in bed.”

Xander thinks he sees a nose twitch.

“Get up, lazybones. We have a guest.”

Spike finally opens his eyes at this. He blinks sleepily at Xander. “Guest?”

“Uh-huh. Willow’s here.”

Spike sits up, the sheets falling away from his pale chest. He rubs at his eyes with his arm.

“Red? Red’s here?”

“Uh-huh.”

Xander sits on the bed and holds Spike’s mug for him while he drinks. Spike can drink on his own with the aid of a straw, but Xander likes to do it this way. He loves to listen to the soft sound of Spike swallowing, loves to watch his lovers’ eyelashes flutter while he drinks.

When Spike’s mug is empty, Xander quickly drains his own. He and Spike both pull on t-shirts. Xander buttons up his own jeans, then helps Spike on with his. Finally, Xander combs both of their hair. Spike seems to have stopped resenting all this assistance, and instead accepts it as his due, like a monarch with his valet.

The vampires exchange a quick but heated kiss and then they thunder down the stairs.

Willow and Angel are waiting for them on the couch in the living room. Willow stands when Xander and Spike come in, and Spike grabs her and kisses both her cheeks. After a short round of greetings and a quick update on Jen and the twins, everybody settles in. Willow sits back down next to Angel, while Xander plops himself onto the recliner and Spike drapes himself across his lap.

“So,” Willow says. “There’s something I’ve been working on for…for a long time now. And I wasn’t sure if it would work and I didn’t want to get anyone’s hopes up, because it was all sort of unclear and I didn’t really know what I was doing. I mean, the notes were incomplete, and they were mostly on the wrong track anyway, so…so I had to improvise and do more research and I’m still not certain it’ll work because there was no way to test it, and….”

She stops for a deep breath. Three sets of eyes stare at her.

“Will, I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

She folds her hands in her lap.

“Regeneration.”

“Huh?”

“Regeneration. Vampire regeneration.”

Spike, who’s been bouncing impatiently, suddenly becomes very stiff and still across Xander’s legs.

Willow gives them a nervous smile.

“Professor Walsh and, and the Initiative, they were studying ways to make vampires regrow, uh, body parts.”

A quick flash of memory. “Yeah, that’s right. She said something about that in Omaha, during her little demonstration.” Xander says the last word with enough venom that Spike gives him a little squeeze around the shoulders.

“The thing is, vampires have some inherent potential for regeneration because of their—uh, _your_—healing abilities. It’s just an extension of the same process, really.”

Angel shakes his head. “Willow, vampires can fix damaged parts pretty well, but they can’t replace parts that are missing.”

“Not naturally, no. But Walsh thought maybe she could find a way to stimulate it.”

Xander growls. “Yeah, so she could do a more thorough job of torturing her slaves.”

Spike bonks his head gently into Xander’s. “She’s dust, pet. Dead and dusted.”

Angel looks grimly satisfied at the reminder, too.

Willow pats Angel lightly on the knee. “So she was doing some, er, experiments.”

This time it’s Spike who growls. He’s told Xander what he remembered of his time in the Initiative before the wipe, and now Xander sends a silent prayer that the bitch is writhing in the deepest depths of hell.

“And she was having some luck, but not much. She could get a little bit of new tissue is all, nothing complete. It’s because she was looking in the wrong direction. She was trying to use physical means—chemicals, electricity, things like that. But vampires—and no offense, anyone—vampires are mostly just corpses animated by magic.”

She shrugs, and Xander nods back. He doesn’t feel much like a cadaver, but he knows what she says is true.

“So I started thinking that maybe there was some way to use magic to do the trick. And…and I think there is.”

Spike takes a wobbly sort of breath. “Red, are you saying you can make me whole again?” His voice is very low, as if he’s almost afraid to hear his own question.

“Yeah, Spike, I think I can.”

Spike closes his eyes and swallows. “How?” he whispers.

“Just…the usual, really. Some spells and a few ingredients, and—oh, Angel, I’d need some of your blood again, if that’s all right. Is that all right?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

There’s a clenching feeling in Xander’s gut, a mixture of excitement and fear. “Will, how sure are you that this will work?”

“Uh, pretty sure. I mean, it’s not like I had any volunteers to try it out on, you know. But I’ve checked and rechecked the incantation, and I’ve consulted with some other experienced witches, and it looks sound, Xan.”

“What are…what are the risks?” He holds Spike tight as he asks this.

“I don’t know. There’s no way to tell. I think—“

“Do it.”

Everybody looks at Spike, whose jaw is set.

“Do it, Red. Please.”

Xander would like to argue his lover to caution, but he knows he won’t be successful. If Spike thinks there’s even a remote chance of being healed…. Hell, Xander would feel the same if it were him.

Spike turns and looks at him. “Pet, I have to do this. I need—“

“I know, baby.”

Spike blinks once and then gives Xander his most dazzling smile. The smile has been making an appearance more often lately, but it’s still very rare, and it melts Xander’s dead heart every time.

 

Willow has timed her arrival carefully. The next night is one night past the new moon—the perfect time, she says, for spells of rebirth or growth. She’s brought most of what she’ll need with her, but a few of the ingredients need to be very fresh. From her previous trips, she knows just where to get them, so she spends the next afternoon driving around town, collecting gryphon tears and pink hollyhock blooms. Angel goes with her, enjoying the rare opportunity to ride around with someone in the daylight.

Xander calls Todd to tell him the news. Pan’s in California and Todd has to work today, but he says he’ll come over as soon as he can.

Xander’s anxious, but Spike is jumpy as hell, pacing from room to room, throwing himself down on a chair only to leap up again in a few seconds. Finally, Xander can’t stand it anymore. “Come here,” he says, and grabs Spike’s arm. He drags him up the into the downstairs bathroom and turns on the tub.

“’M not dirty,” Spike mumbles.

“I don’t care.” Xander is already unbuttoning Spike’s jeans, and within a few minutes, Spike is settling into the steaming water, a small pout on his face.

The pout melts away, though, as Xander trails a washcloth slowly over Spike’s alabaster chest and belly. He tugs Spike forward a little so he can bathe his back as well. Then he suddenly shoves Spike’s head underwater. Spike surfaces, sputtering and glaring daggers, but Xander only laughs and pours a little shampoo into his hand.

Spike gradually relaxes as Xander massages the fruit-scented suds into his scalp. Xander’s fingers are strong and nimble, and soon Spike’s tipped back against the edge of the tub, eyes half-closed like a cat sitting in a pool of sunlight.

“Mmm,” he says.

“Uh-huh.”

“Think it’ll work?”

“Willow’s usually pretty good at these things. I mean, she got Angel back, didn’t she? Better than new, practically.”

“If it doesn’t, though?”

“Then I’ll love you just as much, and I’ll have a better excuse to shampoo your hair for you like a good minion should.”

“Maybe I could get a hook.”

“Or a spike.”

Spike snorts.

After the bath, it’s still nearly two hours until sunset. They go to their room and they find other diverting ways to kill time. Finally they come downstairs, lips swollen and hair mussed.

Willow blushes a little and laughs, and Angel rolls his eyes.

The doorbell rings and it’s Todd, fresh off of work and still wearing a blue oxford shirt and a red tie. It matches the streak in his hair. Thanks goodness for liberal Portland, where a guy with punk-looking hair can land a respectable desk job. He has had to get rid of the nose ring, though.

Xander pulls him inside by the tie and there’s another round of hugging and asking after significant others.

Finally, it’s time. Willow’s drawn another circle with chalk in the middle of the floor. Xander thinks that maybe he should just have one permanently added. Inlaid rosewood, maybe. They’ve dragged out the air mattress and set it up in the middle.

Not surprisingly, Spike has to strip again. Xander gives him reassuring little kisses as he helps him out of his pants. Then Spike stands as, at Willow’s command, Xander smears his entire body with some kind of lotion that smells like lavender and mint and some other herbs Xander can’t identify.

Spike sits on the mattress, his arms tucked around his drawn-in knees, as Willow stands just outside the circle and chants. Everybody else is leaning up against the wall, watching carefully.

Xander can smell the magic in the air. It makes his skin tingle. Spike vamps out. At the same time, Xander’s fangs itch to drop and his bones ache to reform, so he lets them.

Willow chants for a while more and waves a bunch of leaves and sticks in Spike’s direction. Then she walks into the kitchen and returns with a glass full of something thick and mud-colored. Spike had asked her earlier what was in it, and she shuddered and told him he didn’t want to know. They do know she put a little of Angel’s blood in it, but it still looks and smells vile.

“Xan? Will you help with this, please?”

Xander tries not to make an awful face as he takes the glass and kneels next to the mattress. He holds it out for Spike to drink from. Spike takes a sip and gags. “Oh, witch, this stuff is foul!”

“Sorry, sweetie, but you have to drink it all. The faster the better.”

Spike screws up his face, and with a glint of courage in his eyes, downs the concoction in a few big gulps. He shivers and shakes his head, but manages not to puke it back up again. Xander takes away the glass.

Willow sprinkles something green and crumbly on Spike’s head. It has a strong odor that reminds Xander of the beach.

She starts chanting, this time mostly in English: “Goddesses, I beseech thee. Let the undead grow. Let the undead heal. Make the undead whole. Goddesses, I beseech thee. A capite ad calcem, a pedipus usque ad caput, rendo questo vampiro intero ancora.”

It feels to Xander like his skin is trying to lift off of his body. Spike is shivering violently, and Xander aches to wrap his arms around him, but Willow has already warned him not to touch Spike. One vampire in the mix is apparently enough.

Willow’s eyes spark and swirl, a rolling cloud of green and black.

She shouts out a string of unintelligible words, then holds her hands out, palms down, over Spike. A green bolt of energy shoots from her hands and envelopes Spike. He is thrown backwards on the mattress.

He starts to scream, a horrible, ear-shattering, heart-wrenching sound.

Xander lurches forward but Todd and Angel grab him and keep him from entering the circle.

Willow is frozen in place, her hair swirling around her as in a great storm.

Spike shrieks and howls, his arms and legs drumming spastically against the mattress.

Xander falls to his knees and calls Spike’s name.

There’s a tremendous crashing noise, and the entire house shakes. It’s as if an airplane just landed on the roof.

But nothing is destroyed, and in an instant, all is quiet.

Willow’s legs give out and she slumps to the floor.

Spike is unmoving and silent.

Xander finally breaks away from the others and stumbles to the mattress. He gathers Spike’s limp body into his arms and rocks him, crying his name, frantically kissing his slack face.

Then Spike twitches in his arms, and only then does Xander have the presence of mind to really look.

Spike has hands, thin, pale hands with strong fingers. A beautiful long cock curls softly at his groin, backed by a pendulous scrotum. Even his little toe is there.

Spike is whole.

 

[Chapter 18](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/17909.html#cutid1)


	24. 18 Fully Functional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU after BtVS Season 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;   for vetting my British!

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |  [darknessinside](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/tag/darknessinside)  
---|---  
  
_**The Darkness Inside--Chapter 18: Fully Functional**_  
**Chapter Title:** 18 Fully Functional   
**Pairing:** Spike/Xander   
**Rating:** NC-17   
**Disclaimer:** Obviously, I'm not Joss Whedon   
**Summary:** AU after BtVS Season 3.   
**Warnings:** I hate spoilery warnings, so let's just assume that dark stuff, non-con, m/m, torture, occasional character death, violence, kinks, language, and other fun things like that are likely to happen here.   
**Author's Note:** This is a sequel to The Right Tool, which can be read [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=RightTool&filter=all), or a quick summary can be found [here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/10124.html#cutid1). It's less graphic than RT, but chock full o' angst, and you should still heed the warnings. I'll post a chapter a day, and comments are muchly appreciated. Huge thanks to [](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/profile)[**kid_viciously**](http://kid-viciously.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;for the beautiful art and to [](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/profile)[**shapinglight**](http://shapinglight.livejournal.com/)&lt;/lj&gt;   for vetting my British!

Previous chapters [here](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=whichclothes&keyword=Darkness+Inside&filter=all).

**We've made it to the end of this fic. Thanks to everyone who's read, and special thanks to those of you who have commented! Please [click here](http://whichclothes.livejournal.com/18153.html) for news on what's next.**

[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/whichclothes/pic/0000ay9k/)  
---  
  
“God, you’re killing me. Please!”

“You’re already dead.”

Spike bats awkwardly at Xander’s head, his fingers tangling in the long hair. “Xaaaan!” he whines.

Xander laughs and nuzzles again at Spike’s flaccid cock, the longest finger of his right hand tickling lightly down Spike’s perineum and around the very edges of his puckered entrance.

Spike bucks his hips and throws his head back on his pillow.

The replacement equipment isn’t quite operational yet. His fingers won’t move much and his cock is remaining stubbornly limp. Still, he has no trouble feeling Xander’s wild mane as it twists around his hands, any more than he has difficulty feeling Xander’s soft mouth and talented tongue as they tease along the sensitive skin at the root of his organ.

For most of his existence, a floppy penis would have angered or embarrassed him. But regaining the thing at all is such an unexpected gift that he’s not bemoaning his impotence. It’s twitched a few times, as have his fingers, and that gives him fair confidence that eventually all systems will be go. Besides, Xander’s having a fine time now playing with the novelty of a soft prick.

And his clever love has just demonstrated how wonderfully Spike’s cock can fit in his mouth, where the cool, wet suction is going to drive him around the bend.

Spike looks down at the mass of dark locks nestled so nicely at his loins. Xander rolls his chocolate eyes up toward Spike, humps his own stiff and weeping cock against Spike’s shin, and slowly inserts his finger, crooking it just so.

Spike screams Xander’s name as he comes.

 

It’s sheer bliss to pull on his own bloody trousers. And if he still needs Xander to button them up for him, well, Xander gives him a nice little grope as well, and that’s more than enough consolation.

Willow and Angel are sitting at the kitchen table when they get downstairs. Willow looks at them and blushes. They were a little loud.

“Hi, Spike! You’re, uh, up.”

“Not really,” Xander chortles, and Spike whacks him.

Willow ignores Xander. “How do you feel?”

“’M good, Red, ta. And….” Bugger. He needs to do this. He wishes Angel weren’t right there, staring at him, but what the hell. He gets down on one knee next to the witch’s chair and pulls her into a firm embrace.

“Thanks, luv,” he murmurs. “Not just for this time. For…everything.”

Willow pats his back. She looks slightly teary as he stands up again.

He glances at Angel, prepared for a biting comeback if the pouf so much as says a word, but Angel is only gazing at him thoughtfully.

Xander hands him a warm cup of blood. “Hands” being the operative word here, because Spike can take the mug between his own palms and drink it himself, without even needing a ridiculous straw. It tastes wonderful.

Xander stands next to him and drapes his arm around his shoulders. Spike leans slightly against him. Comfortable. Content.

“So I’ve got a red-eye back home tonight, but I was wondering if you’d mind if I borrowed your van and Angel for a couple of hours.”

“Help yourself,” Xander says, taking a sip. “But we’ll expect them both back undamaged.”

Angel actually grins a little at that, and then ducks his head to hide it. Spike’s forgotten how gorgeous he is when he isn’t looking miserable.

The humans leave shortly afterward. As soon as they’re out the door, Xander collects the empty cups, places them in the sink, and then stalks back to Spike. He hooks his fingers in Spike’s waistband and pulls him close until their legs are pressed tightly together. Spike grabs Xander’s ass with both hands, and isn’t it bloody brilliant to feel the worn denim and hard muscles under his palms again?

“Hey, baby,” Xander breathes into Spike’s ear, his hands stroking circles on Spike’s lower back. He drops his head a little lower. There’s the quiet crunch of bones, and then the sizzling pleasure of a sharp tooth scraping just under Spike’s jaw line.

Spike’s cock responds with a definite pulse.

“Sweetheart,” hisses Xander, lisping slightly around his fangs and grinding the hard bulge in his crotch into Spike. “Think we ought to check and make sure everything’s still there?”

Spike wonders why he bothered to put trousers on today at all.

 

Within less than a week, all of Spike’s bits are fully functional.

Spike feels like a new man. He can’t get enough of Xander. Can’t stop touching his skin, his hair, can’t stop feeling himself in Xander and Xander in him. When they go for walks after sundown, he laces his fingers with Xander’s and they stroll hand-in-hand, and Spike doesn’t care if it makes him feel like a giddy schoolgirl.

Todd comes over sometimes, or sometimes it’s just Spike and Xander and Angel, and they drive to one of the seedier demon bars—nobody at Ricky’s will tangle with them anymore—and they drink and play billiards and get into glorious, dirty fights.

And afterwards Xander goes to the shop for a few hours of work while Spike writes in his journal and sits in the living room with Angel, both silently plowing their ways through piles of books. When Xander comes home they make love, and they sleep, and they make love again.

Spike just can’t seem to wipe the grin off his face. Maybe he’d feel like a fool, except Xander’s smile is just as wide. Todd laughs at them both delightedly and even Angel shakes his head indulgently and covers his mouth with his hand.

This morning Spike is mapping Xander’s body with his fingertips and lips, carefully exploring all his scars, the many marks left on human skin by talons and teeth and blades and bullets. He’s rubbing his palms over the thick planes of Xander’s pectorals, tickling his tongue at a small C-shaped gouge just under Xander’s right nipple, when Xander says, “Hi, Angel.”

Spike turns his head to see.

Angel is standing at the top of the stairs, naked. His thick cock juts before him, the foreskin retracted and the crown red and shining. Angel’s eyes are shining, too, with anguish and loss and raw need.

Spike and Xander look at each other, asking and answering without words. Xander smiles, and Spike rolls off him and pats the empty expanse of bed next to himself. “C’mon, then,” he says.

Angel hesitates a moment and then slowly walks over. He climbs in beside Spike and lies on his back. Instinctively, Spike moves up against him, inhaling deeply. Angel’s taken to practicing tai chi in the back yard before he goes to sleep, and now he smells of sunshine and clean sweat and grass and fresh earth.

Spike rests a hand on Angel’s chest, still slightly amazed at the warm skin and strong heartbeat. But Angel lifts his hand by the wrist and pulls it in front of his face. “Can I see?” he asks. Spike nods.

As Angel inspects his restored extremity, Xander scoots up against Spike’s back and strokes his hand down the length of his torso and belly, gently humping against Spike’s arse.

Angel places Spike’s hand down on Angel’s hip and then lifts the other one, examining it as gravely as he has the first. When he’s finished, he rolls onto his side facing Spike.

Xander takes Spike’s cock in his hand and caresses it gently, as if he’s exhibiting it for Angel’s approval. Or maybe he’s offering it, because a moment later it’s Angel’s larger, softer palm that’s wrapped around his rigid shaft, and Xander is slowly sinking into Spike’s already-slicked hole.

Spike tries to say something—probably something intelligent, like “argh” or “gah”—but then his mouth is covered with Angel’s and all he can do is steal Angel’s breath and savor his taste, which is of coffee and apple and minty toothpaste. And then Xander starts sucking softly on the nape of his neck and he’s too overwhelmed by all the points of touching to do anything more than feel, and thrash, and then come.

Angel and Xander slow their movements and then pull away from him. Spike gathers his brain cells just enough to realize that Angel has never kissed him before—not once in all the many times Angelus fucked him—and then Xander and Angel are repositioning his pliable body so that he’s on all fours.

Angel rises to his knees behind him and touches his swollen and dripping glans against Spike’s sphincter. He stops then, perhaps not sure if he should continue, so Spike pushes back a little. Spike groans quietly as he’s impaled. Angel’s cock is wider than Xander’s and the little burn as Spike stretches to accommodate the bigger girth is pain and pleasure at once.

Angel stills again once he’s fully seated, but he’s panting hard, and Spike remembers that he’s human now, without a vampire’s supernormally brief refactory period. But while Angel’s hips remain unmoving, he runs one hand down Spike’s back, lightly massaging his shoulders and then his upturned rump.

Xander settles himself on his knees in front of Spike. His eyes are dark and glittering, but Spike sees brief flashes of red and blue in the brown irises, and he wonders which of the demons have been allowed to come out and play. Xander has his hands in his lap, cradling his bollocks and moving up and down his own glistening length.

Spike shivers slightly, feeling a pleasant little thrill of almost-fear at being caught between these two familiar and powerful bodies, feeling his own strength thrumming through his body and knowing he could escape if he wanted to. But he really, really doesn’t want to.

Angel rolls his hips, slowly, cautiously, and Spike groans again, and he’s met with an answering moan from Xander, while Angel rasps, “God, Spike…William…Jesus.”

The human moves faster, deeper. Maybe he remembers something from over a century ago, or maybe it’s just luck, but each thrust is angled perfectly to stimulate Spike’s prostate. Spike trembles under Angel’s heat and weight.

He’d like to take Xander in his mouth, taste him, feel him fill his throat just as Angel’s filling his arse. But then he wouldn’t have such a good view of his lover’s beautiful face, his hungry eyes, his slightly parted lips. And Xander seems happy right where he is. Watching.

The heady scents of Xander and Angel are mixed in Spike’s nose and he feels dizzy with them as if they are drugs. Good drugs.

Now Angel’s pistoning hard and he and Spike are both softly grunting, while Xander’s right hand is matching their pace. And just as Spike feels his bollocks drawing up and thinks he can’t take it much longer, Angel collapses over his back, his sweat sticking his skin to Spike’s, and he roughly shoves his wrist in front of Spike’s gasping mouth.

Without thought, Spike drops his fangs and buries them in the soft flesh. He hears a loud moan—or maybe two—and then Xander’s bending forward and biting hard at his shoulder.

The three of them collapse in a howling, sticky, writhing mass.

Eventually they catch their breaths and disentangle from one another. Angel moves onto his back in the center of the bed and the vampires drape themselves over him, their arms extended around him and each other. _Have to wash the bedding again tonight_, Spike thinks sleepily, and Xander grins at him across Angel’s broad chest, and Spike grins back.

 

“Please pass the pad thai.”

“Might want to slow down there a bit, old man,” Spike says, patting Angel’s stomach. “Don’t want to ruin your girlish figure.”

Angel growls at him and pushes Spike’s hand away, but it’s a half-hearted growl at best.

Xander laughs around a mouthful of spicy noodles. “One of the great things about being vamped—no more having to work off extra pounds in the gym. Almost makes up for the no-sun thing. I think my gym membership’s still good, though. You want it, Angel?”

Angel scowls and nods, and Todd hands him the plastic container of food.

Spike lies back in the grass and watches the stars whirl around him.

What kind of daft vampire plans a picnic? Xander, of course.

Over the past three months, two people and at least three dogs have disappeared from this park, and demon bar rumor has it that the snatcher is not human. So Xander had rounded up an enthusiastic Todd, and a slightly less enthusiastic Spike and Angel. He filled the van with take away Thai and drove them here, then spread out a big blanket and told everyone to dig in. The plan, ostensibly, is to keep eyes and noses open for anything suspicious.

Actually, though, it’s just a nice night to dine al fresco. There’s a bit of a breeze, slightly tinged with a hint of autumn. And it’s uncharacteristically clear out, so that they can sit near the highest point of the park and look out over the twinkling lights of the city. Close to downtown, a large boat is making its slow way down the river. It’s quiet, too, the only other visitors at this late hour being a pair of teenagers who have planted themselves well away and are busy snogging.

Angel clears his throat. “I, uh, had an idea.”

Spike sits up and everybody looks at Angel expectantly. He clears his throat again.

“Um, after I left Sunnydale, before…before the Initiative, I had this sort of…supernatural detective agency.”

Giles has told them this already, and then later, when Spike recovered his memories, he realized that he’d heard some rumors about it at the time. He’d thought it a truly poncey idea, and had even considered travelling to LA and bedeviling Angel over it for a while. But then he’d been caught and chipped, and he’d fled to San Francisco instead.

Now, Angel is fidgeting a little with his plastic fork. “So, I was thinking of doing something like that again. Um, together. I mean, all of us. And, uh, here, not LA.”

The other three look at each other in surprise.

Angel sighs. “Look, we fight really well together. And Xander, you know more about demons than just about anyone I know, and you’re pretty much already patrolling anyway.” He gestures around him at the empty park.

“We could make some money off it. Enough to cover expenses, anyway. And I talked to Giles”—Xander looks slightly astonished at that—“and he said the Council could pay a stipend. They don’t have a presence in this area now, and they’d like one.”

Todd pats Angel’s knee. “It’s a great idea, Angel. But I’ve got my job with Metro, and—“

“I know. You could just…join us when you’re free. When you feel like it.”

Todd picks up an egg—Xander had made sure to pack a carton for him—and shimmers to green. “Moonlight as a demon hunter?”

“Something like that.”

Todd bites into the egg and drains the contents. “Let me think on it, okay?” But something about the glint in his eyes tells Spike what the answer will be. Angel nods.

“How about you, Xander? Spike?”

The corner of Xander’s lip curls up. “It sounds like fun,” he says, and there’s that flash of blue in his eyes again. “Spike?”

“Told you before. I’m no white hat.”

“You don’t have to be. Don’t wear a hat at all. Just be my squire, remember? Follow me into battle if you feel like it. Enjoy the fight.”

Spike ponders this for a few minutes. He doesn’t see anything wrong with the idea, really. He likes to fight. He likes to fight beside Angel and Todd and, especially, Xander. It doesn’t really matter to him what the fight’s about, and if it makes his Xan happy….

He turns to Angel. “It won’t be enough, you know.”

“Enough for what?”

“Redemption. We’re not going to spare ourselves from hell this way.”

“I know, Spike. I don’t want to save the world. I don’t even want to save myself. Just…I want to have a purpose. Maybe improve a life or two.” He looks sidelong at Xander as he says this and Xander smiles.

Spike gazes around the circle at his lover, his sire, his friend.

Xander beams at him, his smile so sunny it’s a wonder Spike isn’t consumed by fire. But there are multicolored sparks crackling through the brown eyes, and Spike has a premonition that by morning he’ll be bloody and sore in all the right places.

Spike feels strong. Free. Happy. Loved.

“We can call it Spike Investigations,” he says.

                                                                         ---Fin---  
 


End file.
